


Who Is Right and Who Is Dead

by Susanwiththescythe



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Animal Death, Animal Torture, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, Child Sexual Abuse, Choking, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Crossdressing, Dark Comedy, Domestic Violence, Drugged Sex, Genderqueer Character, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Italian Mafia, Knifeplay, M/M, Most people in this have unusual brains, Murder, Non-Linear Narrative, People Trafficking, Phone Sex, Rubber Ducks, Russian Mafia, Stalking, Tags will be updated, Wax Play, consensual drug use, psychopaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2018-10-01 15:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10192955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susanwiththescythe/pseuds/Susanwiththescythe
Summary: Jared Padalecki is not right in the head, but tries to maintain a balance the best he can. Jensen Ackles is not right in the head, but he doesn't care. Misha Collins is a Russian mob boss obsessed with performance art via the medium of crime. Mark Pellegrino is an Italian mafia don with an under-developed sense of humour. It's going to get him into trouble someday.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are very much themselves. They just happen to share names, appearances and, in the case of Misha, perhaps a few character traits with a collection of real life actors in this world. This is a work of fiction, written for fun. No offence is intended and no money is being made. I own nothing relating to either The CW or Supernatural.
> 
> The title and inspiration for this entire thing comes from a line in The Princess Bride. I own nothing related to The Princess Bride in either its film or book incarnation, but if you have neither watched nor read it, I heartily recommend it.
> 
> Comments and concrit always welcome. Not intensively beta'd so please shout if you spot anything.

_Westley: "Where is the poison? The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink. And find out who is right... and who is dead."_

The Princess Bride

 

 

~~~

 

He first meets Jensen at one of those clandestine meetings big criminal types like to set up from time to time to finalise the details before embarking on a joint enterprise. Everyone gets their dicks out on the table to begin with, just to make it quite clear _they’re in charge, ok?_ And those other fuckers _better not forget it._ It’s a tedious, time-honoured tradition that Jared usually watches with a certain amount of laconic detachment. He’s worked personal protection and clean-up for Pellegrino for the last five years. Knows how these things work. He’s a big man with a big gun and has heard more than enough jokes about what he’s supposedly compensating for to last a lifetime. Doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone else here.

He doesn’t recognise the spiky-haired blond type standing just shy of Collins’s left shoulder. He’s dressed pretty much as Jared is, all in black, protective vest, pads on the crucial bits, boots that you could pound the ground all day in and they’d still hold you up when your muscles gave out. So hired gun then, but a pro. He seems to be taking more of an interest in proceedings than Jared’s ever found to be necessary at this stage, bright green eyes following every interaction between his boss and Jared’s. That’s unusual, so he decides to tune in.

“…so why don’t you tell us who your friend is? I thought we’d already agreed on personnel Misha.” Pellegrino’s keeping his voice friendly, but Jared can tell from the tone, the man is suspicious. 

And he’s right to be, in Jared’s opinion. Misha Collins is a blue-eyed maniac. Jared’s aware most workaday folk might question _his_ sanity, given what he does for a living (and in his spare time…), but Collins takes unnecessary risks, has to make every goddamn job a fucking performance piece. He declared loudly in a set up meeting once that after the cocaine had been removed from the shipping containers they had to leave one of them chockfull of water balloons just to fuck with the cops. Pellegrino had been on the verge of walking out of that deal, but the potential payoff had proved too tempting. After insisting that Collins “provide his own motherfucking water balloons” they’d come to an arrangement. And it had worked out. But it had added three hours’ run time to the job. Collins had forked out for the manpower and the balloons, but Jared and others in Pellegrino’s team had been on security detail until almost the bitter end. Watching a grown man help fill a metal crate with water balloons, all the while giggling like a five-year-old.

And the whole arrangement had almost gone south when Collins had decided to lob one at the back of Pellegrino’s head. Fortunately, Jared’s trigger finger had saved his boss from any potential embarrassment. Or worse. Fuck knows what Collins was really filling those things with. He’d rushed down from his perch to stand by his employer, gun at the ready. But Pellegrino had drawn his own and pointed it direct at Collins’ forehead, while the man had just carried on laughing.

“Why so serious, Mark? It’s just water.” And to prove the point, Collins had bent down, picked up one of the sad little strips of rubber Jared’s bullet had left behind, stretched it between his fingers and licked slowly along the length of it, obscene tongue distending the material.

“See Mark? There’s nothing here to hurt you.”

Pellegrino had motioned to Jared to stand down, but kept his own gun raised.

“We’re leaving, Dmitri.” Pellegrino had almost spat the man’s real name. “We’re taking our share. And you can finish your little art project on your own dime. Do we have a problem?”

“Besides the surgical removal of your sense of humour at birth? No. Gentlemen,” this was said as Collins bowed with a flourish, “I bid you a fond farewell until our next endeavour.”

Pellegrino had kept his gun up, a tilt of his head giving Jared the signal to round their people up and leave. They’d gotten away clean. And a few hours later, so had Collins and his crew. Next day’s news was full of how the cops had raided a shipping container full of water balloons. Jared’s got a theory that Collins is a frustrated art major. It’s the only explanation.

That was three years ago, and Jared hadn’t expected Pellegrino and Collins would ever work together again, but the crazy little Russian knows how to get his hands on the good drugs in a way the Italian gangsters in the city have never quite managed. Pellegrino’s a businessman, and pragmatic, in his own way. They’ve worked together one or two times a year since. Every time Pellegrino swears it will be the last. In one particular stunt, Collins’ boys had smuggled in a load of weed packed inside stuffed toy giraffes. Which had been left in a stolen cop car once emptied of their cargo. Jared understands the thrill that comes with putting yourself in deliberate danger, which is why the army had worked for him, until it hadn’t. But for stakes this low? Collins is just an amateur making his life difficult.

But the man is speaking again and Jared has to pay attention to the here and now.

“Gentlemen, I can assure you, when it comes to the success and security of this particular venture, my latest sidekick on our noble quest will give you no cause for concern. Meet Jensen Ackles.”

And that really does get Jared’s attention. They’ve not met before, but he knows Jensen by reputation if nothing else. Always delivers on a contract, but with a flair for the dramatic. No wonder he caught Collins’s attention. Jared wonders how long Jensen’s been working for him.

Jensen holds out a hand. Pellegrino doesn’t shake it, but calls him over.

“Jared? You know this man?

“Know of him.”

“You trust him?”

“His rep doesn’t give me a reason not to. His work is good. He’s something of an _artist_ ,” he gives the word an emphasis that puts it just this side of a sneer, “like our friend here,” he matches gazes briefly with Collins, “But he knows what he’s doing.”

When Jensen speaks, his deliberately slow drawl gets on Jared’s nerves almost as much as what he actually says.

“Padalecki isn’t it? I’d heard you were uptight,” Jensen tilts his head back in exaggerated fashion to stare up at him, “They just didn’t say how far up. Does it get lonely up there on your high horse, princess?”

Jared’s a man of few words, but he makes them count.

“Sidekick huh? Some of us get an equal profit share on these things.”

“Oh I make sure he’s more than adequately compensated,” Collins smacks Jensen’s backside as he says this. And _there’s_ an image that bears contemplation. And possibly discarding. Jared’s not sure yet. Collins doesn’t do much for him. But for all that’s he’s obviously an asshole, there’s something supremely inviting about Jensen.

Of course, Pellegrino drags them all back to the matter in hand. “How you pay your employees is a matter outside the specifics of today’s meeting. You’ve already changed up too many things on this job Collins, if you’re planning any more stunts, now’s the time to spill.”

Collins smiles. Or at least, shows a full set of disconcertingly bright white teeth to the assembled company. There are a few other hired hands from both sides privy to this final meeting.

"No artistic statements this time, I promise. The prize is enough of a statement in itself."

Jared's not one to buy trouble when there's none for sale, but he doesn't, no, can't, believe what he's hearing. They're intercepting a shipment of blood diamonds. Pellegrino had got a tip off from someone who knows someone who knows someone and decided he wanted to lift the gems from their non-rightful owners before they knew what was happening. But he couldn't bring together enough muscle for the job on his own. Unsurprisingly, Misha Collins was the only other local hoodlum crazy enough to want in. It would be the perfect opportunity to stage some of his "trademark japery" as he calls it.

"Did I say something funny Padalecki?"

Collins' ice-blue eyes are fixed on him, and on a normal person his face would be wearing a hurt expression. Jared trusts neither man nor expression as far as he can throw them, but he realises some of his disbelief must have shone through.

"Never had you pegged as the romantic type is all."

It's the right thing to say. The blue-eyed maniac simpers and smiles "Well, diamonds _are_ a girl's best friend. Don't you think Jensen?"

"I'm sure I'll look just beautiful in whatever I can pry out of your greedy clutches once we get our cut."

“Of course you will sweet cheeks.”

For a moment, Jared thinks Collins might start making out with his retained killer right then and there, but thankfully, Pellegrino’s delicately cleared throat pulls everyone’s attention back to the matter in hand.

“As my partner is satisfied that Mr Ackles will prove an asset to the operation and not a liability, and as our good friend Mr Collins has decided not to use this operation to make some sort of conceptual point, I think we can consider this meeting over. Gentlemen, you all know what to do. See you in T minus 30 hours. Until tomorrow evening.” Pellegrino’s already rising from his chair, ready to go.

Collins is still sitting and appears to have his hand down the back of Jensen’s pants. Jared can’t be sure from where he’s standing, but the sidekick’s face has taken on a slightly glazed expression and he appears intent on a fixed point in the middle distance, somewhere behind Jared’s head. Jared’s always considered Collins a bag lunch, two folding chairs and a table with a fancy cloth short of a picnic, but this is the first time he’s ever considered him dangerously unprofessional.

The Russian crime lord’s face is stretched in a lazy grin, “’til tomorrow compadres. We won’t let you down.”

Pellegrino and Jared are the last of their party to leave and they’re almost out the door when Collins utters the words that will seriously complicate Jared’s working relationship with his employer.

“You know you really should consider it Mark. Sex as part payment. When they make hitmen as pretty as these two, it’s hard not to. And someone as tall as Padalecki has to be packing more than heat, right?”

Pellegrino stops briefly ahead of Jared, turning slightly to look back at him, expression unreadable. Jared answers Collins’s suggestion with the derisive snort and eyeroll it deserves and the moment’s over, and they’re closing the door behind them. At least, that’s what he thinks at the time.

 

~~~

 

The second time Jared meets Jensen, they fuck.

He’s in a club in a part of town well away from the usual stomping grounds of either the Collins clan or the Pellegrino family. Yes, there’s an element of risk in that, if the wrong person spots him his presence might be read as treading on someone else’s toes, but Jared values his privacy more than his safety. And the metal detectors on the door did nothing to pick up the entirely ceramic but still wickedly sharp knife he has stashed in his left boot.

He’s not there with anyone, that’s not the way he likes to unwind. Anonymous hook-ups that may or may not last the night depending on his own very specific set of rules, followed by the next morning by meticulous disposal of the unlucky ones or breakfast for the survivors, that’s more his style. Pellegrino usually sends enough soon-to-be corpses his way that he doesn’t have to indulge himself too often when he’s not on the job, but some people are just so _weak_. He senses their fear. Of everything. Of their own shadows. What Jared gives them, it’s a blessing.

But he hasn’t found anyone to bestow his benediction on so far, which means he doesn’t have anyone to use as a human shield when Jensen accosts him at the bar.

“Well if it isn’t Pellegrino’s princess. Do you always look that pretty or did you make a special effort because you knew I’d be here?”

Jared doesn’t even look at Jensen to respond, signalling the bar tender and ordering himself a whiskey on the rocks.

“Shouldn’t you be home bending over for Mr Collins? We only finished the job two days ago. You got his ass out of jam. Shouldn’t he be paying you back for that by ploughing yours?”

The diamond job had ended in a massive clusterfuck. They’d made it out alive and with most of the stones before the cops showed up. But the people they were attempting to deprive of property already rightfully stolen had shown up partway through the operation and things had become… messy. Collins had nearly bitten it, with a gun at the back of his head, before Jensen had taken out the man wielding it, with a well-thrown knife from 20 yards away. The diminutive mobster had turned and _blown Jensen a kiss_. In the middle of a _goddamn_ firefight. Their attackers had all eventually been mown down, but they’d had to leave behind one of the briefcases containing the diamonds before the cops arrived to make things difficult. Collins and Pellegrino had split the spoils and a jeweller friend of Mark’s was already working on turning his share of the uncut gems into something pricier and untraceable.

It had been impressive though, finally seeing Jensen in action. Doesn’t mean Jared likes him any better. As a person anyway.

Jensen rocks back on his heels, leaning against the bar, deliberately flaunting his abs through an obscenely tight white T-shirt.

“Yeah, he already did that Princess. But I was thinking of you the entire time.”

"That cutesy shit ever work for you?”

Jensen takes an indecent amount of trouble wrapping his lips around the neck of a beer bottle before taking a slow, sensual swallow. He flicks his eyes towards Jared as he lowers his drink.

“I’ll tell you in the morning.”

Jared doesn’t laugh, but maybe he cracks a smile. Dammit.

“So you are a real boy. I knew it!”

Jared’s quite proud of himself for biting back the obvious retort about being a real _man_. Jensen obviously doesn’t need that sort of encouragement. He’s looking at Jared expectantly, but seems quite happy to carry on the conversation unaided.

“Pellegrino give you some time off then?”

He nods. “Same with you?”

“Yeah, got a week.”

Jared wouldn’t normally ask the question he’s about to next, but Pellegrino’s been off with him since they finished the job and it’s got him wondering. He’s not about to jump ship, but for the first time in a long time, he’s curious.

“What’s Collins like? To work with?”

Jensen stares at him with mock offence. “Why do you wanna know? Do you think he’s hotter than me or something?”

“No.”

“So you _do_ think I’m hot.”

“Just answer the fucking question, or fuck off.”

“Misha is…” Jensen pauses, mouth half-curved in a smile. “Misha’s insane.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“He’s smart. Really smart. And he likes to have fun. That’s what he thinks life is for. Oh and crime. Preferably both at the same time.”

Jared processes this. It makes sense, Collins couldn’t pull the shit he does without having some sort of brain, but so much of the stuff he does just seems so unnecessarily stupid.

“Do you ever find the risks he takes make doing the job way harder than it needs to be?”

Jensen shrugs as he takes another swig from his beer. “I enjoy the challenge. He’s creative. This work gets repetitive fast, you know?”

It does. But Jared likes routine. It’s a way of keeping score. Accounts owed, balances paid. Lives ended. He’ll do right by God, even if God never did right by him. Even if there is no God, not anymore.

“But these signature pranks, don’t they just make it more likely y’all are gonna get caught?”

“Aw Princess, I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t. Jus’ trying to figure out how the unnecessary risk doesn’t drive you nuts.”

 "Well, number one, I’m already nuts and number two, it’s fun. You ever have that Jared, fun?”

Jensen issues the last as a challenge, one eyebrow raised, tongue flicking out teasingly between his lips. And Jared’s self-control is good, but he’s only human. Jensen may be an arrogant cock tease, but he’s definitely pretty enough to justify it. Plus he’s practically been offering himself on a plate almost all the time they’ve ever spent together. So Jared turns to face him for the first time in the whole exchange, leans forward so his lips are almost touching the soft skin of the other man’s ear.

“Yeah, I do. On _my_ terms.”

It’s impossible to miss the little hitch in Jensen’s breath. “And what are your terms exactly?”

“Finish your drink. Turn your back, and walk away. You’ll have one minute. Then I’ll come find you.”

Depending on the target’s decision, the evening will start down a particular route at this point. If the target laughs at him or doesn’t finish his drink, or in some other way makes it plain he’s not participating, Jared calls off the operation, pretends it was a joke, lets them go. If they follow his instructions to the letter, the game starts for real. How it ends, well, that’s up to them. If they pass Jared’s tests, it’s bacon and waffles and orange juice in the morning. If they don’t… Of course, it’s much harder to pass an exam when you don’t know you’re being assessed. But based on their conversation, he has high hopes for Jensen.

When Jensen’s eyes roll back in his head and he swiftly downs his drink, then sets the empty bottle down on the bar in one fluid movement, part of Jared’s brain fondly reminds him that a more prudent man would have made a batch of waffle mix before heading out this evening. But, he argues with himself, he hadn’t known Jensen would be here tonight,

When Jensen has left and Jared is staring at the clock on the wall behind the bar, watching the second hand tick its way round the face, waiting patiently until it’s one sixtieth of a circle past the number seven, the minute spent in quiet contemplation of the artwork he wants to engrave on those beautiful abdominals sends enough blood south that he’s already hard in his pants.

When he spots Jensen in the parking lot, standing alone in the shadows, face illuminated by the gleam of a phone screen, but out of range of the cameras on the club’s door, Jared knows it’s a sign that he _wants_ to be found.

When Jensen turns, almost catches him, just as Jared’s forearm presses against Jensen’s Adam’s apple, the sharp bones in his wrist driving into the airway, as his knee to the back of Jensen’s own helps him down the floor, Jared’s cock twitches, the excitement that finally he’s found someone who will really appreciate what’s being done to them giving his lust that extra little edge. If Jared were a betting man, he’d offer $100 Jensen will make it through the night. Unfortunately, there’s no one he can make this wager with, but as Jared wins either way, he can live with that.

Later, when he uses his ceramic knife to pierce the duct tape he’s wound over Jensen’s face, gently easing the tip into the groove of his lips, cutting a razor-thin slit that finally allows Jensen to moan his name, then scream as Jared rips the tape off his face, he knows they are most definitely doing this again.

 

~~~

 

They have waffles with bacon and maple syrup for breakfast next morning. Jared is pleased about that. It takes up considerably less of his time off. Jensen moves slowly around the kitchen, fetching knives, forks and plates while Jared tends to the bacon. He’s wearing nothing but some grey sweatpants from Jared’s closet. The delicate pattern of cuts on his chest has scabbed over. Perfect, interlinked geometric shapes cut across the edges of his well-defined chest muscles, the lines of dried blood pulling the skin tight over Jensen’s torso. It’s nothing that will scar too badly, but it’s just as well Collins won’t expect Jensen at work for the next few days. Jared knows the scabs will soon start to itch like a bitch. Once he’s finished laying the table, Jensen sits, waiting for him, hands laced together behind his head, leaning back into his chair. Jared didn’t ask him to come downstairs on display like that. Jensen just _knew_. He’s perfect. There’s just one small snag.

He raises it as they’re sitting down devouring breakfast.

“So what’s the deal with you and “Misha”?” Jared hates air quotes, and is quite proud of himself for managing the suggestion of them on inflection alone.

As far as he’s concerned, Jensen can sleep with whoever he likes. But wherever this goes next, it can’t be allowed to get in the way of work. Jared’s a professional with a business reputation to uphold.

Jensen shrugs. “He pays me. He fucks me. I kill people. That’s pretty much it.”

“What are your contracted hours?”

He’s answered with another shrug. “It’s more a ‘I’ll give you X many thousands of dollars a month, let’s make up the rest as we go along,’ type deal.”

Jared would wince involuntarily, if he did that sort of thing. That sort of lackadaisical approach would drive him round the bend. But whatever. He already knows that, while Jensen complements him perfectly in so many ways, they are very, very different people.

“You exclusive?”

“Hell no.” Jensen grins at him.

It had all seemed so simple that bright sunny morning in Jared’s kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The theory is that psychopaths are born, not made. With Jared the truth is somewhere in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: I added a-whole-nother section to the end of Chapter 1. Anyone coming to this as I'm writing it, who read that chapter when it was first posted, you will do yourselves a service when it comes to knowledge that may be relevant later by going back and reading the new bit.
> 
> Second things second: The nature of this fic has changed *ahem* _somewhat_ since I first thought of it. Part of the reason for the long delay between posting the first chapter and this one was that I realised I am basically writing an original story that suddenly required a lot more planning and structure than I envisaged when I had the original plotbunnies. It also contains more darker elements than I had originally envisioned. But I don't consider this a dark fic, and am still aiming at something with an overall humorous tone, admittedly a dark one. If you don't like gore and death, do not read the last section of this chapter. I will signal it with a *** instead of ~~~ if you want to skip it. I don't want to say more, because I don't to give too much away, but there 'tis.
> 
> Third things third: Related to the second point. Read the tags. Please read the tags and then read them again. I am new to tagging, so please let me know if you feel I have missed something triggery.
> 
> Fourth things fourth: A slightly more hardarse version of Valentine Wiggin sauntered in from the Ender's Game Universe and refused to leave. But at least she let me change her last name and agreed to play Jared's sister. So that's alright, best beloved.

Jared is six when he first kills a living thing. He doesn’t know at first that that is what he is doing. But when he sees the bulging throat of the croaking frog by the side of the pond, he wants to know how it’s done. Catching the little amphibian is tricky, but Jared’s a quick child, his father has always said so. It takes a few false starts, the frog’s skin slippery and slimy against his own makes it hard to keep a hold of. But eventually he has it grasped tightly in both hands. And he squeezes. Wants to make that bubble appear in the throat again.

The frog is still at first, too terrified to know what’s happening to it, but as his grip tightens, it starts to struggle, front and back legs thrashing in panic. Jared’s squeezing harder and harder, but he still can’t make the weird bubble shape come back, but he notices the frog’s eyes are starting to bulge out of its head. He relaxes his grip a little, tightens it again, watches what happens. Repeat. Squeezes harder. The frog is screaming in his hands, the sound like a whistling kettle. It’s then he feels the bones inside the slick little sack of flesh start to shift and crack under his fingers. Feels the sudden rush of excitement inside him as the creature’s scream ends on a breathy gargle, before it stops moving altogether.

When he proudly shows the squished little corpse to his four-year-old sister, guts trailing from its mouth, limbs dangling brokenly from the cradle of his hands, she screams, and cries for their mama.

Jared’s father beats him for the first time that evening and he spends the night locked in the cellar, with just the crust from the end of the loaf and a glass of water for dinner.

He cries for less than 30 seconds, lying face down to avoid the pain in his spanked behind. Then he starts to think. His father told him that God has created all living things and that Man must respect them. Told him that what he did today was wrong, and there has to be a balance to make things right. When boys like Jared are bad, they will be punished, by their parents in this life and by God in the next. That’s why he’s down in the cellar tonight. Jared doesn’t understand. God created the frog and he killed it. That’s a balance all its own. God made something. Jared unmade it. But the fact he’s in the cellar right now shows that’s not the sort of balance his father means. He knows he doesn’t understand, that he needs to do more thinking. He also knows that he’s too tired and hungry for that now, so he curls up under the ratty little blanket and very quickly falls asleep.

Jared is 24 when he first kills another human being just because he can.

 

~~~

 

The soundtrack to the evening is _Lullaby_ by The Cure and it’s strangely apt when Jared comes to look back on the night in question. Fond memories. He’d found him in a bar, not a club. He thinks someone had selected it on the jukebox. Maybe it was him. The night’s a swirl of lust and booze-fuelled recollections so he’s not always sure. Normally he remembers every little detail, but that first time was such a rush, he’s just left with a series of broken, beautiful pictures.

When he’s feeling down, which admittedly isn’t often, he sings the lyrics to himself under his breath _“Be still be calm be quiet now my precious boy, Don't struggle like that or I will only love you more…”_

He _does_ remember seeing the target further down from him at the bar, and what was odd about it was the fact that someone so delicious was there on their own. Head slumped between his shoulders, forearms resting on the bar, hips thrust out behind him, legs splayed, his posture this weird mashup of _leave me alone_ and _come and get me!_ that just screams _vulnerable_ to Jared in a way he can’t ignore. He gives into temptation and beckons the bartender over.

“Next time our friend over there orders, it’s on me.”

 

~~~

 

Jared doesn’t have many close friends growing up. There’s really only Chad. And sometimes Chad suspects Jared only keeps him around because he’s funny. Or because it would look weird for someone as smart and attractive as Jay to have absolutely no friends. Chad doesn’t know how Jared manages it. Top of the class, but all the girls still seem to like him. Maybe being a track and field star on top of everything else doesn’t hurt. If Chad was interested in girls, he might find it in him to be jealous. But he isn’t, so they’re ok. And Jared… Jared just doesn’t seem to know or care what to do with his easy popularity. Chad focuses on being the class clown and finding more ways to hang out with his beautiful best friend outside of school. Because that’s what best friends do outside of school. They hang out. Yeah.

 

~~~

 

He watches as the barman slides a ridiculous-looking cocktail over to his intended target. It’s bright blue and has a slice of pineapple wedged on the rim of the glass. The man turns his head towards Jared and raises a hand in thanks. He then very deliberately leans forward, sucks the straw into his mouth and begins to drink, never breaking eye contact the whole time.

Jared saunters over, this already feels like it’s almost too easy.

“Mind if I hang out with you? You look like you could use the company.”

“I can use however many of these your willing to cough up for, handsome.”

“Gimme your name and you might just get another one.”

“Ben. And you are?” Yeah, definitely too easy.

Jared holds out his hand. “Ross.” He doesn’t know at the time what makes him give a fake name, but when Ben later “goes missing”, he’ll be grateful for his past self’s foresightedness. No sense in leaving traces if you don’t have to.

“Good to meet you.”

The conversation flows easily after that, not least because of the alcohol, but Ben’s genuinely attractive and Jared’s enjoying at least that aspect of his company. Not to mention the pictures his mind is already painting of him tied up, strung out and begging for Jared to stop. From the way he’s bitching about his ex, he doesn’t seem like the type who can take much. Of anything. Jared’s only been listening with half an ear, but his sympathies are fully with said ex, David, on this one. Ben complains about _everything_. Turns the slightest thing into a catastrophe. The way Ben tells it, the world is out to get him, not just Jared. But he’s so very, very pretty, whichever way the evening goes, he’ll be fun to play with.

Eventually, after a ten-minute rant about David’s failings in bed, and how the no-good-sonofabitch had no business dumping an ass as sweet as Ben’s, Jared decides it’s time.

“Babe, I can help you forget about all that shit. Gonna let me?”

Ben talks a good game, but now Jared’s laying it all out there, he’s showing the first signs of skittishness, gazelle in the long grass, uncertain where the lion is, just before it pounces. But Jared’s not about to let him get away. Not after buying two of those ridiculous Swimming Pool cocktails.

He leans forward and down, no one’s ever as tall as he is, cupping Ben’s head in both his massive hands and crushes their lips together.

 

~~~

 

Chad and Jared are out in the woods near home when it happens. You can only be gay and best friends with a living, breathing Adonis for so many years before nature takes its course, Chad reckons. They’re doing what most 14-year-old boys would do in the woods, kicking rocks, striking the trunks of trees with fallen sticks they’ve picked up along the way, when they come to the clearing. It’s maybe a hundred metres, a hundred-and-fifty, to the other side. The springtime clouds scudding across the stretch of blue sky now visible above them give Chad a sense of urgency, a sense that _now_ is the time, before they turn old and grey and their dicks fall off from lack of use. He nods to the other side of the clearing, “Race you!” and then hares off. Jared’s taller, his legs are longer, he’s the school’s 100m star sprinter and he _hates_ losing, he’ll catch him up in no time. That’s kind of the plan.

And it works beautifully. Excitement gives Chad the edge for most of the distance, but he feels Jared’s arm round his waist a few metres short of the treeline. Their legs tangle together, the takedown is chaotic, but soon they’re tumbling over and over together in the undergrowth. Chad manages to roll around enough that they’re face to face and, on a pass when Jared happens to be underneath him, he leans down, kissing him full on the mouth. Jared stills for a moment and then he’s kissing back, his tongue insistent and sloppy in Chad’s mouth and it’s the best thing ever, until he’s rolling them over, fastening his teeth round Chad’s lower lip, _bites,_ pulls back slowly, teeth scraping the tender flesh, and he’s biting back, sucking a bruise on Jared’s neck, then _that’s_ the best thing ever, they’re writhing against each other, denim on denim, cocks hard in their underwear, hands sliding up under each other’s T-shirts and it’s not enough, not nearly enough, until suddenly it’s all too much and they’ve both come in their pants.

Chad thinks he may have sicked his heart up into his mouth at some point in the last two minutes. With slow, careful breathing he manages to force it back down to its proper place. Feels his pulse drop as his blood returns to where it usually flows. Pushes Jared’s now dead weight off him so they’re both lying, out of breath, on the forest floor.

It’s immediately after that it all goes to shit.

“You have to let me hit you.”

“Jay? What the fuck? No!”

“My dad won’t like this.” Jared’s pressing his finger into the hickey on his neck. “It has to look like I fought you off.”

“Just tell him you pushed me away!”

“He knows we’re friends, if I wasn’t in to it, I’d’ve reacted before you managed to leave a mark. He won’t go for it.”

“Well I don’t go for getting punched!”

“Chaaaad! Pleeeeeease! They’ll put me in the cellar again.”

Chad knows all about the cellar. His own parents aren’t the greatest when it comes to the whole having-a-gay-son thing, but at least his dad’s not the frickin’ town pastor. And he never could say no to those puppy dog eyes Jared’s got fixed on him right now.

“Please Chad? I wanna have my dinner this evening.”

There’s only so many years a guy can have a crush on his best friend and not be totally gone for him, Chad reckons. Either that, or he’s just plain ol’ crazy. Because, he finds himself nodding curtly.

“Fine. Once. Just. Just get on with it man.”

_WHAM._

It’s a good thing he was expecting the punch because, Jesus titty-fucking Christ, that could have broken his jaw.

_WHAM._

He was not expecting the second one on the other side and maybe that one _did_ break his jaw. Jared may be skinny as fuck, but he’s a committed athlete and it’s all muscle under there.

“Jesus Jay, what the fuck?” Speaking hurts. His head hurts. His heart hurts.

He’s confused, a little afraid, but mostly angry. _Betrayed_. Friends don’t hurt friends like that. He manages to raise his hands to block the next blow, but backs away as he does so and trips, landing heavily, over a fallen tree branch.

There’s this _look_ in Jared’s eyes that Chad’s never seen before. He’s advancing on him, this fucking creepy smile on his face, looking straight through Chad like he’s nothing.

He’s not thinking coherently through the pain, brain still struggling to process the fact that _Jay_ hurt him like this, but somehow his body decides it cares more about living than stopping to figure out what the hell this is all about, and it brings his knees up to his chest and then snaps both legs out in a double kick that catches Jared off guard. It doesn’t do any damage, but it pushes him off balance and far enough way that it buys Chad the precious seconds he needs to scramble up and run for home like the devil’s after him.

It’s all over town within hours that Murray Junior’s a faggot who tried it on with Pastor Padalecki’s son and got the shit beaten out of him for his trouble but Chad doesn’t care about that. He knows what went down, even if no one will believe his version of events over that of the Reverend’s Grade A golden boy. He starts going to the gym and takes up thai boxing. Jared and Chad aren’t really friends after that day.

 

~~~

 

“You want to what?” Ben’s looking at him like he just grew an extra head. The way Chad did that time Jared asked him to let Jared punch him. He hasn’t thought about Chad in a long time. He briefly wonders what he’s doing with himself these days. Then decides it’s irrelevant.

“It’s just a game.”

“Some game! Who the fuck does that kind of shit? You a stalker or something?”

“I used to be in the Army. Used to work as a tracker.” More like a sniper. With a sideline in personal combat. But Ben doesn’t need to know that. Jared gets the impression it would spook him. And he doesn’t want to drive the quarry off.

“A tracker? In the army? Why do they need trackers?” Ben’s definitely sceptical, he’ll have to play this carefully if he’s going to get his way.

“Sometimes they need to find things… and people.”

“Ohhhhh. Dude, why didn’t you just say you were ‘a spy’!” Ben’s laughing now, more relaxed, he even put the dreaded air quotes around ‘a spy’.

“Well, you know what they say, if I told you…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’d have to kill me, very funny.” The tension in Ben’s face has lessened and Jared thinks he might still be able to swing this. He can tell the other man doesn’t really believe his explanation, but the mixture of laughter and lust is doing a lot to dissolve his uncertainty.

They’d broken apart after the kiss, and then Ben had taken a couple of steps backwards when Jared had proposed his little game of what he’d called “hide and go seek”, so he closes the distance between them, rests his forearms on Ben’s shoulders, tilts his head down so their foreheads touch.

“Think of it like this, either you walk away and spend the rest of your life wondering what you missed out on…” He rolls his hips forward suggestively, pressing the already firmly defined bulge in his jeans into Ben’s crotch. “…or you let me try to catch up with you… and give you the best night of your life. What do you say? You game?”

He can hear the other’s man’s quick, shallow breathing, takes two fingers and places them gently over the fluttering pulse in the side of his target’s neck.

“Because that, right there, says you’re interested.”

This time, it’s Ben who leans forward and kisses him.

 

~~~

 

The kiss with Chad ended up changing Jared’s life in more ways than he had ever thought possible. That first taste of another human in his mouth. It had been _alien._ Intoxicating. He wanted more. To feel more, taste more, take more, have more. What had happened next had been amazing, and it was over far, far too quickly.

But then the reality of the situation had snapped back in, hitting him full in the face as it did so. Jared’s been a pastor’s son all his life, so he knows the obvious evidence of their encounter will earn him a night in the cellar at the very least. _God loves everyone, but he doesn’t love fags_ , as his father is fond of saying. _Fags aren’t people_. The way Jared himself thinks about things, he’s not sure he counts as a person, more a force of nature. But either way, he doesn’t want to spend the night in the cellar again.

So he hits, hah, upon the master plan. A way to bulletproof himself. Punching Chad. Chad’s his friend, he won’t mind.

Except that he does. But, after a little emotional blackmail, apparently cares for him enough to let him. Jared hadn’t counted on the fact that hitting Chad turns out to feel even better than kissing him. So he does it again. He would’ve done it a whole lot more, and then some other… stuff, he doesn’t quite know what yet, if Chad hadn’t kicked his legs out from under him and run away. Chad’s smart, Jared can respect that. He leaves him be. But cries it from every street corner that he’s a pure son of a preacher man. And it works.

Apart from a taste for inflicting pain, the main consequence of Jared’s sexual awakening is that he learns to shoot.

His father is by no means entirely a man of peace, what with his taste for corporal punishment of his son, but he’s not much of a man for firearms.

But Roger Amell of his congregation is. He’s chapter president of the local branch of the Righteous Christian Hunters of America. And after a quiet word in his father’s ear, about the best way to doubly make sure the Reverend’s son ain’t no queer, Jared finds himself out in the woods again one Saturday afternoon with Roger and his son Stephen.

Stephen’s a little younger than Jared, but according to Proud Father Amell Snr, has already killed five bucks in the last month alone. Jared likes Stephen. He’s quiet, calm, only talks when he needs to and can disassemble and reassemble a hunting rifle in record time. It’s something for Jared’s competitive nature to aspire to. They’re not friends exactly, but over time, they come to understand each other.

The first time Jared sites on a deer through a borrowed telescopic lens and kills it outright, clean shot to the head, the pleasure sings through his blood like a grand aria. He almost blacks out for half a second, but recovers before either of the Amells notice anything wrong.

They get him to pose alongside the body, holding this week’s religious tract, that they’ve been handing out to anyone they’ve met while out in the forest, and Stephen snaps Jared on his smartphone.

 

~~~

 

Jared looks at his phone. It’s been two minutes. Ben won’t have got far. He’d obviously been hitting the booze hard before Jared had bought him the cocktails, based on how he’d staggered out the door when he’d finally agreed to the game.

He takes himself to the bathroom before leaving. Has a smoke with a group of drunkards by the front door. Tells a tall tale about a man matching Ben’s description accidentally taking his jacket, asking if anyone saw which way he went. Then he looks at this watch, faking exasperation over the bus he has to catch home, all for the benefit of the security cameras overhead, before setting off carefully in the opposite direction to the one they indicated. Then doubling back.

He eventually finds the target in a liquor store, making a bright tableau against the darkness as he buys a packet of cigarettes. Jared waits across the street, back against a tree, bending over, as if he’s had a bit too much to drink himself.

Once the target leaves, he waits a few seconds before following, his much longer legs gradually making up the distance. His quarry is slowing down, meandering slightly, and Jared thinks he must be getting close to home, the way he’s patting his pockets.

He times his steps carefully, taking care to step forward exactly as the target does, the sound of their footfalls landing at exactly the same time.

His prey stops. Jared does too.

Then he starts walking again. Jared does too.

A few more strides and then he stops a second time. Turns his head to the side, but doesn’t quite look over his shoulder.

“Ross? Hey man, is, issat you?” He’s slurring. Definitely hammered. Jared doesn’t reply.

“If it’s you man, just say, ‘cause ok, you got me. Maybe you _reaaally_ are a spy… but if it’s not you, I’m gonna call the cops, ‘cause, ‘cause whoever you are, you’re freaking me out.”

Jared can make out the glow of a phone as the target brings it up towards his head.

Oh no you don’t. He sprints the last few steps forward, knocks the phone to the floor, and wraps both arms around the man from behind, pinning his hands to his sides. He runs his tongue along the skin of the target’s neck, ending with a sharp bite to his ear lobe.

“It’s me,” he whispers softly. Then bites down hard on the target’s shoulder.

 

~~~

 

After the Chad debacle, Jared needs a best friend. He picks Tom. Dark hair, big blue eyes, and his dad is treasurer for the church steering committee. A year or two later, he picks a girlfriend, Sandy, to further help with blending in. Her folks are involved in the church administration too, and although she's a little short for his liking, he never needs to do much more than hold her hand in public and give her a chaste peck on the lips in private, so everyone's happy. He hadn't counted on Valentine.

Valentine Padalecki. A sister with whom he's been equally cursed and blessed. He really does love her very much.

She was initially wary of him after the frog. And he was dismissive of her. She didn’t understand the rightness of what he’d done, balancing out the world. Breaking the frog to make it into something new.

Shortly after, being the sort of man who decides to take a hands-on approach to parenting, their father decides that the way to cure Jared of this destructive streak is to make him directly responsible for looking after Valentine. And punish him if anything happens to her.

It soon becomes ingrained. If Valentine’s happy, then Jared’s happy. Where the definition of happy is ‘allowed to eat at the table with the family and sleep in his own room at night’. Sometimes as an adult, he wonders why his father’s strategy made him hate his parents, but not his sister. Just one more of the quirks in his brain he holds God responsible for. He tolerates his parents because, even as a young child, he understands that they are how he survives. And if he has to play the long game, then so be it. His feelings towards Valentine are indifferent. She is a task to be accomplished that aids his survival, nothing more.

But things start to change once they’re both attending the local elementary school. Valentine’s only seven, but it’s obvious to anyone with working eyes that she’s going to be an ethereal beauty once she’s grown. Her hair is a darker brown than Jared’s, longer, but with the same slight wave to it. They both have those eyes that seem to change colour depending on the angle of the light, but where his tend towards the green section of the spectrum, hers favour the blue. Jared’s pretty sure the three boys in his grade who decide to play kiss chase with her aren’t analysing things that closely, but he does know that someone trying to touch _his_ sister blows up the rage inside him faster than he can blink.

It’s not simply that Jared will suffer if they hurt her, it’s that she belongs to him and they have no _right_ to make her cry. When he hears through the playground grapevine what’s going down behind the boys’ outside toilets on the other side of the schoolyard, his legs are carrying him across the tarmac before his brain has even made the decision.

There’s a surprise waiting for him when he gets there. Val’s backed against the wall, crying, and her face is blotchy, but her would-be attackers are holding back, the ringleader sporting a split lip, with a bruise already forming on his left cheek.

“You ok, Val?”

“What’s it look like, Jare?” Her voice is steady, for all that she’s shaken up.

Jared very deliberately places himself between her and the boy in charge that she’s managed to damage.

“Leave her alone. Or I’ll… I’ll kill you!”

It’s said with all the bravado of the average nine-year-old with his hackles up in a playground fight. But in the calm centre deep inside him, Jared knows he means every word.

The odds now decidedly less in their favour, the would-be kiss chasers slink off, the two lieutenants flanking their leader, throwing the odd nervous glances over their shoulders at the Padalecki siblings as they leave.

“What happened Val?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“Nowhere it shows.”

“Tell me.” It’s not a request.

“Todd said he was gonna kiss me and Frank and Jimmy would hold my arms if I didn’t let him. So I let him. An’ then I pushed him off with both hands and punched him in the face. Twice. Then you showed up.”

Jared laughs. “Valentine Padalecki! What would Daddy say?”

“That I’m a good Christian girl and Jesus loves me.” They both laugh, and it’s so much better than seeing her cry. She’s only seven, but already she’s devious and strong and he’s proud of her. Jared feels a sudden urge to hug her. That’s new.

“If Daddy hears anything about it, I’ll tell him it wasn’t your fault.” She almost whispers and it takes Jared a couple of seconds to process what she’s saying.

“Thanks.”

And it’s only as they’re walking back to the main playground, hand in hand, that Jared realises the full implications of what Valentine has just told him. She knows. She _knows_ what gets him sent to the basement or deprived of their evening meal. She knows and she’s never once abused that power. Not once.

He starts to pay closer attention to Valentine after that.

It’s almost a year later, when she has managed to save him, once again, from a night unfairly spent in the cellar with minimal food, that he manages to admit it out loud. He can’t tell her to her face, but that night, when he’s sure everyone else in the house is asleep, Jared creeps cat-footed from his bedroom into Valentine’s, kneels by the side of her bed and buries his nose in her hair.

“Love you Val, love you so much, you’re mine, not going to let anything happen to you ever.”

Her gentle exhale is the only response he gets.

Then comes the day when Jared learns that, in her own way, she's just as much of a faker as he is. On one level, he’s annoyed with her for keeping that secret, but on another, he’s so impressed, it makes him love her even more.

Jared's 17, growth spurt well underway and thoughts turning towards college applications. It's a Saturday afternoon and Tom's been round for a shoot 'em up session. He’s making a shop run for fresh game-playing snack supplies when Val sets off her bomb.

"I know what you're up to."

“What? Call of Duty?”

“With Tom. And Sandy. She’s my friend Jare. Please don’t hurt her.”

“Valentine? What? She’s my girlfriend, why on earth would I hurt her?”

Valentine squats on her haunches, looks him dead in the eye, nothing but love on her face, that Jared can see anyway.

“I know about Chad.”

Old circuits in his brain begin to boot up, trying to generate a convincing response.

“She’s your smokescreen.”

“Chad’s just a fag who got what was coming to him.” The voice doesn’t sound like his.

“Don’t lie to me Jare. I’ve spoken to him. About everything. And I believe _his_ version. And I’ve seen how you look at Tom. And Stephen.”

“Some sister you are.” He’s playing the hurt older brother, and it’s not even completely an act, but inside his head, mountains are shaking, trees are falling. This isn’t happening.

Her next words are punch to the gut. “I remember the frog, Jared. I know about the other ones. I have pictures. Hard drives, USB sticks and copies.”

_…little green bodies crucified with pins stuck into lolly sticks, three in a row on a little bank he’d shaped into his personal Golgotha. An Easter tradition all his own…_

“And I promise no one else will ever see them. Or hear the recording I made of mine and Chad’s conversation. As long as you don’t hurt him. Or me. Or Sandy. But anything happens. To any of us. And so, so many people will know. You won’t be able to hide anymore.”

“Anyone else you want to add to that list? The whole town? Mom and Dad? Who else do you care about more than me?” He sounds bitter. He doesn’t like it.

She brushes her fingers gently over his forehead, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his left ear.

“You should join the Army Jare. Leave town. Do something where they don’t just let you hurt people, it’s actively encouraged.”

“Why are you doing this? Why now?”

“I saw the way you looked at Sandy at dinner last night. Chad told me the way you stared right through him that time. You looked at her the way that sounded. I couldn’t risk it.”

“Is this a threat Val?”

“No. It’s me begging my big brother to do something that fulfils his true potential. Not to waste his life doing something petty and,” she purses her lips, disdainful, “ _ordinary._ ”

They’re talking about hurting people for fun like it’s a career option, but she’s got him and they both know it. Jared may have been doing his best to fit in all these years, to be the straight A student, the school sports superstar, but while it’s camouflaged in modesty, it’s definitely true to say he likes the world to know he’s exceptional.

“Go kill some bad guys for us. Be a sniper, you’re easily a good enough shot, Stephen always says so, and you know he’s not one for easy compliments. Go. Create that balance Dad’s always going on about.”

He sniggers. “Since when did you care what Dad wants?”

“Since never. But I want you to be happy. And safe. And free.” And she means it, he can tell.

It’s blackmail, that’s exactly what it is. And from anyone else, he would never, _never_ accept it. But it’s Valentine. She’s his one weak spot.

And hurting people and not having to deal with any consequences? That does sound fun.

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ben gives up the ghost so beautifully, so gently, Jared almost misses the moment. The blood’s been draining from the cuts in his wrists and thighs for a good five minutes, while Jared fucks into him slowly, teasing, forearm pressed against his throat now and again to restrict the airflow, enjoying the tightening of Ben’s rim around his cock as he fights for breath.

When he lifts his weight off Ben’s throat, the other man coughs shallowly, the air rushing into his lungs allowing him to cling on a little longer, but doing nothing to stem the flow of blood from his body. He’s struggling, trying to find the energy to panic, to fight. If he’d tried earlier it might have been enough, but now there’s nothing left to give.

“Please…” his voice is barely a whisper.

“Shhh baby, we’re so close.”

“Please…”

And his begging is so gentle, so tender, it’s the last thing Jared needs to push him over the edge. His orgasm hits him like a falling flower petal, soft and sweet. Ben couldn’t manage to do almost anything else right this evening, but he finally makes up for it with the perfect death.

Jared looks over to the bedside table to see what time it is. 3.17am. He turns back just in time to see Ben’s eyelids flutter shut. And then he’s gone.

After pulling out, Jared checks his breathing with a mirror, just to be sure. And then it’s time to clean up. He misses the Army. But it just wasn’t enough. Not anymore. This. This _worked_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [DeeMB](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DeeMB/profile). Thank you my darling.
> 
> I am sort of on the hunt for the American equivalent of a Britpicker. I am attempting to research stuff as I go, but that doesn't mean I'll get it right. Mostly I'm hoping nothing too glaring stands out at the moment! But if anyone feels upto assisting, leave me an e-mail in the comments. Thanks in advance.
> 
> If you don't know the song that Jared associates so fondly with his first murder, may I suggest you direct your listening ears below. I heard it and fell in love with the way it sounded, then looked up the lyrics and was terrified. And then I just looked for a video to share with any interested parties, and now I am laughing because it's so campily terrible, it's not even remotely scary. To me anyway. Your mileage may very. But anyway, awesome song, do check it out. Probably not suitable for arachnophobes.
> 
>  [Lullaby - The Cure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ijxk-fgcg7c)
> 
>  
> 
> _On candy stripe legs the spiderman comes_  
>  _Softly through the shadow of the evening sun_  
>  _Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead_  
>  _Looking for the victim shivering in bed_  
>  _Searching out fear in the gathering gloom and suddenly!_  
>  _A movement in the corner of the room!_  
>  _And there is nothing I can do_  
>  _When I realize with fright_  
>  _That the spiderman is having me for dinner tonight..._
> 
>  
> 
> _Quietly he laughs and shaking his head_  
>  _Creeps closer now_  
>  _Closer to the foot of the bed_  
>  _And softer than shadow,_  
>  _And quicker than flies_  
>  _His arms are all around me and his tongue in my eyes_  
>  _"Be still be calm be quiet now my precious boy_  
>  _Don't struggle like that or I will only love you more_  
>  _For it's much too late to get away or turn on the light_  
>  _The spiderman is having you for dinner tonight..."_
> 
>  
> 
> _And I feel like I'm being eaten_  
>  _By a thousand million shivering furry holes_  
>  _And I know that in the morning_  
>  _I will wake up in the shivering cold_  
>  _And the spiderman is always hungry..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen's always liked to look pretty. That doesn't mean you should mess with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently unbeta'd so may be Subject To Alteration. Please shout if you spot anything.
> 
> N.B. This chapter contains depictions of choking and strangling in a consensual sexual situation that is neither safe nor sane. The techniques described are loosely based on my experiences in martial arts. I really do not recommend you try them at home, either in the bedroom or elsewhere.
> 
> Also, I cannot stress enough, given what happens in this chapter, that this version of Jensen's family is _entirely_ fictionalised.
> 
> In fact, given what this version of Misha gets up to in his spare time, it's probably worth stating again for the record that these are entirely fictional versions of everyone.

Jensen is seven when his oldest sister paints his nails for the first time. He’s the middle child of five, with two sisters either side of him. Elia is 12 and going through a gothy phase, so the polish is metallic purple. It wasn’t Jensen’s idea to paint his nails, but once it’s done, it turns out he loves it. She screws up sheets of toilet paper, weaves them in and out of his fingers and dries the varnish carefully with the lowest setting on the hairdryer. He’s under strict instructions to take care of his nails for the rest of the day, as the risk of chipping is highest in the next 24 hours. Of course, he’s incapable of this and manages to ruin much of Elia’s careful work falling down the stairs a couple of hours later, running to escape the vicious tickling prowess of his two middle sisters, Nina and Ashley. 

The fact that his son is still his usual rough and tumble self doesn’t prevent his father throwing a fucking conniption when he comes home from the bar later and sees Jensen’s shiny purple, albeit scuffed, nails.

Jensen doesn’t know what “a painted whore” is, but he doesn’t want to be one if it means that it gets not only him into trouble, but Elia and Mom as well. He and his sister cling to each other in the kitchen closet while his father takes it out on his mother. Jensen’s backside is stinging, and the two of them are kneeling up, arms wrapped tightly round each other so neither of them have to sit down, but the pain fades into the background when he hears his mother start to cry. He flinches, as if to burst out of the cupboard and place himself like a shield against the blows they both know their father is doling out, but his sister’s arms tighten reflexively, pressing him closer to her. 

He’s still sniffling and Elia is stroking his hair softly, whispering in his ear. “It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.”                       

Jensen’s reaching the age where he’s starting not to believe her anymore.

 

~~~

 

Misha takes the index finger of Jensen’s left hand into his mouth, tightens his lips around the root and sucks, pulling off slowly, teeth a gentle scrape over spit-wet skin, eking out the time it takes to get to the tip. He bites gently on the pad, takes in a breath, then blows a steady stream of air over the saliva-softened skin. Jensen shivers pleasantly. He’d never known this could be his thing. But he’s been learning a lot of new information about himself since he met Misha for the first time.

The tousle-headed man with the ice blue gaze is fixing the thousand-watt staring power of those bottomless eyes on Jensen’s fingernails.

“Purple again Jenny? You’re going to have to tell me about that someday.”

And yeah, Jensen’s been waxing kinda poetical in his head about Misha lately, while not being entirely certain it’s the best plan.

“You know, I really don’t have to tell you anything.”

Misha is mock-hurt. “But baby, you _love_ me.”

“Nah, I just love fucking the living daylights outta you.”

They both grin. It’s true. This ain’t love. But it sure is fun.

 

~~~

 

Jensen is 10 the first time he tries running away from home. It’s not nail varnish this time. His father catches him trying on one of Ashley’s skirts with a pair of his mom’s high heels. When Ashley catches hell for it too, his father not listening to Jensen’s desperate protests that she had nothing to do with it, she hadn’t even known he’d gone into her and Elia’s room, Jensen decides it’s time to split. There isn’t much he decides to take with him. But he grabs Elia’s newest bottle of the purple nail polish. She’s not really so gothy anymore, but she’s bought it for him as cover a few times in the last few years. Jensen has been painting his toes.

He doesn’t get far. A patrol car picks him up practically the next street over. He’s always looked young for his age and the cop tells him he’s definitely not old enough to be out on his own, not at this time of night. Jensen files this information away for future reference and decides to run away during the day next time. It takes a few moments for the puzzle pieces to slide into place, but Jensen eventually realises he recognises the cop. He comes over to play poker sometimes as one of his dad’s drinking buddies. Naturally, he doesn’t listen when Jensen tries to explain about the beatings and just takes him straight back home.

Jensen’s mother answers the door and folds her son into her arms like he’s just risen from the dead. Ackles Senior is passed out in the front room, hadn’t even noticed his boy was missing. When he’s much, much older, Jensen works out that the reason he doesn’t catch hell for the attempt at the time is that his mom had been too scared to tell his dad he’d gone. He avoids an immediate beating, but when dad comes home from the next poker meet up and backhands Jensen the moment he’s through the door, he figures the cop must’ve spilled.

 

~~~

 

"I swear Jenny, one day you're gonna go the whole nine yards for me," Jared pants out, "Stockings, suspenders, black leather miniskirt would look so perfect on that ass. Don't skip the eyeliner."

Jensen’s more than on board with the idea, but he also has his own agenda. He’s been working on Jared for a while now and knows, to misquote a teen movie of excellent vintage, that there’s some definite potential buried under the psychopathic exterior.

"Speak for yourself princess. Legs that long are begging for some high-quality hosiery. And some even higher heels."

Jared gives a short bark of laughter. "I don't think they make ladies' shoes in my size Jen."

"Don't tell me you never looked?" Jensen can tell before Jared opens his mouth that he thinks Jensen’s entirely too coherent for someone with Jared’s hand around his cock. He just _knows_ he’s going to make some comment about how they’re on a schedule and can’t get distracted. Fucking Jared. Whenever they end up working a job together, he does _everything_ on a timetable. Breathing. Talking. Even sex.

"Less chatting, more fucking," Jared says, his mouth meeting Jensen's in a bruising kiss, as he jacks him mercilessly. Well, at least he kept the complaints short.

Afterwards, when they’re both cleaned up, not an eyelash out of place, Jensen glances up surreptitiously to where Jared is standing on the other side of the door. It's ridiculous how quickly he pulls himself back together after an orgasm. The man is machine. One perfectly designed to split Jensen apart and assemble the pieces in a new arrangement every time. It almost scares him how much he enjoys it. But he’ll never tell Jared that. It wasn’t a lesson he needed to learn, but the more time they spend together, the more it’s reinforced. You’re better off daubing yourself with blood and jumping into a shark tank than showing this man you’re afraid. From what he’s managed to glean, telling Jared you can’t take any more will get you killed, and not speedily. But even if Jared has a black hole where most people’s moral compass would be, he’s not the worst man Jensen’s ever known. Not by a long stretch.

 

~~~

 

Jensen is 11 when he catches his father in his older sisters’ room. He’s had a nightmare and can’t sleep. It’s been a good few years since he’s sought comfort in Elia’s arms after a bout of night terrors, but even though he’s growing into a man now, as his father is so fond of saying, as if saying it enough, along with the beatings, will drive the sissy out of him, he just needs his Ellie to calm him down. She won’t send him away. She never has. He opens the door.

The light from down the hall doesn’t illuminate much. But he hears enough.

“So good for me sweetheart… Such a good girl for your Papa… That’s it…”

Ashley is a curled-up lump of sobs hiding under the duvet on the other bed.

He runs. He doesn’t get far.

 

~~~

 

“You should come work for me you know. I could use a man of your talents.” Misha is looking at him, all seriousness for once, as they enjoy a couple of post-coital cold ones stretched out on one of Misha’s many massive beds.

“Mish, for the final time, I am not coming to be your live-in whore.”

“I wasn’t talking about your talents in the bedroom...”

 Jensen raises a deliberate eyebrow at that.

“Then what are you talking about? You’re so loaded, if you don’t already have a mechanic for all your fancy cars, you’re an idiot. And if you do have a mechanic, you don’t need another one.” 

“Now, now Jensen, I think we both know you’re much more than a mechanic. Your talents are much more… incendiary.” 

He’s talking about the warehouse fire. He has to be. But how could he know? They’d been so careful. To this day, no one else knows the goods were stolen and not burned. Unless Misha knows about that too... Shit. 

“I’ve got a pretty sweet deal the way things are at the moment thanks Mish. Not looking for a move at this time.” 

“What if I could make it worth your while?” 

He mentions a number and Jensen almost spits beer all over both their bare chests. 

When he’s managed to stop coughing and spluttering, he looks askance at the man lying across from him. 

“And what business is your organisation involved in exactly?” 

Misha grins. It’s the smile of a tiger if Jensen’s ever seen one. 

“We’re big players in the international art market.”

 

~~~

 

Jensn’s maybe 14 or 15 when he starts hanging out with the wrong people. They’re not really a gang, or if they are, Jensen’s not really a member, not to begin with. But they let him help out on jobs, just running messages at first, keeping a look out, and it gets him out the house. They soon learn not to push the kid with the black and purple-painted nails and the platinum-dyed hair too far. He may walk with that swing in his hips that fills a man’s head with all the dirty-good-wrong thoughts, but word gets around. Lay a hand on Jenny when he doesn’t want you to and you’ll end up with a broken wrist. And then maybe a week later, your car will explode. The kid’s young, but he already fights alleycat fierce. His friends reckon it’s being a fag that does it, that and having the father he does. Everyone in the neighbourhood knows Pa Ackles is a mean drunk who beats on his wife and kids.

And after his growth spurt hits, those who try to take advantage live to regret it. Jenny may be pretty, but he fights dirty. Not to mention that after all the practice sessions with Steve, he’s a quick hand with a knife, both throwing _and_ stabbing. A few times, guys from rival gangs don’t get the message and come back for a second try. But Jenny’s proven himself time and again and the guys have got his back. He may be a fag, the thinking runs, but he’s our fag. He’s family.

 

~~~

 

“Are you exclusive?” 

“Hell no.” 

They’re eating breakfast together that sunny morning after their first time, and Jared continues, “I don’t usually do this. I’m more a one-and-done kinda guy.” 

“You mean one-and-done in?” Jensen’s pretty certain Jared isn’t going to kill him over breakfast. Pretty certain. Last night had been a different story. 

Jared’s smirking at him. “Not all the time. I’d say it’s about 50-50 they end up where you are now. Maybe 60-40.” 

“And you just put that out there, huh?” 

A shrug in response. 

“In our line of work, who are you gonna tell? People go missing all the time. If you play your cards right, you choose ones that no one cares enough about to follow up on it. You got any proof that connects any of them to me? Let me know how that search pans out. Whereas you… there was a corpse back at that parking lot with a distinctive knife wound in his skull. Not many people use that kind of blade." 

"You're bluffing." Jensen knows he sounds more confident than he feels. 

His heart rate is through the roof, he suddenly realises they’re both on their feet facing each other, the remnants of breakfast forgotten, and he has no clue when that happened. 

"Maybe I am." Jared comes a step closer, then another, and it takes all of Jensen's willpower not to step back, not to defer, even though it feels like the air between them is suddenly compressing, forcing itself up against his bare and bloodied chest. Jared likes to kill people in his down time, and Jensen’s just _encouraging_ him. 

"And yet..." Jared’s circling him now, his breath a whispered touch on the back of Jensen's neck. "...you're still here. Gonna convince me to keep quiet?" 

"I don't need to." 

Jared stops directly behind him, not touching, but Jensen can feel the heat coming off him, warming the exposed skin of his back.  

"Now is that a fact?" 

Jared's lips are so close to his skin, Jensen can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stirring when the other man speaks. He steels himself not to move when he answers.  

"It's like you said last night. I'm too much fun not to have around." 

He gets a few seconds' warning as Jared all but growls out his arousal. Then a sudden sharp pain, his breath catching as Jared’s teeth bite down hard on the flesh of his shoulder. Jensen breathes out slowly, the air flowing out of him as Jared loosens the grip of his jaws, leaving a wetness on Jensen’s skin that isn't just spit.  

"Tell me," Jared pauses, tongue lapping delicately, almost tickling, at the bite on Jensen’s shoulder, "What's the difference between a strangle and a choke?" 

He'd known this even before the previous night, but Jared had spent a lot of time reinforcing the lesson, alternating between the two. The memory is enough to rob him of the power of speech. 

_\--- His wrists are bound together with tape, and not the kind that sticks to itself. This stuff’s not shifting until it’s cut off or torn off and he’s already looking forward to either or both. He’s on his knees and elbows on the bed as Jared fucks into him in one thrust. He wraps his arms round Jensen's chest and hauls him up so his back is flush with Jared's torso. The change in position leaves him gasping.  
_

_"Legs out in front."  
_

_He rushes to obey, ending up sitting between Jared's legs, impaled on his cock.  
_

_"Work yourself."  
_

_He clasps his hands around his dick the best he can with the heels of his hands forced together by his bonds, the angle awkward and uncomfortable, but it's all the friction he's going to get, because as he feels the pressure on either side of his neck, he realises Jared's hands, or rather, his arms, are busy elsewhere.  
_

_It's not nearly such a panicked feeling as when Jared had choked him out in the parking lot of the club. He's dizzy, light-headed, the colour fading from the before him narrowing down to two pinpricks of light. As he feels his body relax, the vice-like sensation crushing the blood vessels in his neck is suddenly removed and the colour floods back into his vision.  
_

_"Still with me?"  
_

_Jensen nods. The sides of his neck ache, but his dick doesn't appear to have a problem with this.  
_

_"Are you scared?"  
_

_"No."  
_

_A laugh, then silence, stretching out the seconds. "…Don’t you think you should be? If I apply this technique for too long, it could kill you. You’re really not scared?"  
_

_"No."  
_

_Almost as soon as the word leaves his mouth, the side of Jared's hand slams into his throat, the knuckle of his thumb forcing the air out of Jensen’s throat in a sharp gasp.  
_

_"How about now?"  
_

_It takes almost his last breath to gasp out the answer.  
_

_"No!"  
_

_The bones in Jared's thumb are crushing Jensen’s Adam’s apple, the weight of the massive man behind him pushing him forward into the choke.  
_

_"Keep jacking yourself. I know you want it."  
_

_It's hard to focus, hard not to fight to breathe, but his clumsy hands on his dick feel amazing and as he loses the last of his oxygen he can feel his muscles clench around Jared's cock as Jared swivels his hips beneath him and Jensen's not sure if he's going to pass out first or come, he’s panting, little gasps of almost no air and even less sound, it feels like dying, it feels like flying, what’s left of his vision is pinwheeling and swirling… and suddenly the hand at his throat is gone and Jared is stilling Jensen's hands, giving his balls a sharp tug down that derails his orgasm and leaves him whimpering in frustration, as the slow pressure of Jared’s bicep and forearm starts to build once more on either side of his neck and they begin the cycle all over again ---_

 Jensen can feel his dick starting to harden in the borrowed sweatpants just thinking about it. 

"Jensen? I asked you a question." 

"Strangulation stops blood flow to the head. Choking stops your air flow." 

The way Jared did it, after he’d finally, _finally,_ let Jensen come, being strangled almost felt like falling asleep. He’s not even sure that isn’t how he fell asleep last night. 

"Very good." The soft whisper makes him almost-shiver, despite the warm sun through the breakfast room window. Almost. 

Jared’s running his hands down Jensen's torso on either side before clasping them possessively across Jensen's stomach. He's resting his chin on Jensen's unbitten shoulder, whispering in his ear, "Would you like to play a game?" 

Which is how it’s come down to this. When they next have time off following a joint job between the Collins clan and the Pellegrino family, they get a week to do with as they will. Jared gives Jensen three days. 

Three days to get away, to hide himself as best he can. 

After three days, Jared will be coming for him. And Jared promised Jensen that, when he finds him, Jensen will be his for the rest of the week. 

Jensen's exhausted. He's been on the run for almost 72 hours and he's barely eaten and had almost no sleep. He's miles away from where they started. It's nearly midnight on the third day and he can hardly wait.

 

~~~

 

Jensen is 17 when he kills his father. It's his birthday. It’s not what he’d been planning on doing with his evening. 

Elia doesn’t live with them anymore. She got pregnant when she was 19 and managed to get herself cast out of the family home as “a lazy slut not worth my dimes”. She told Jensen before she left that she knows the child isn’t their daddy’s because he stopped coming to her once their younger sisters entered puberty. Jensen doesn’t see her often, but when he does, she seems happy. Her man’s as good a one as you could hope to find in their part of town. Likes a drink, but not the way their father does, and he doesn’t hit his woman. When Jensen paid them that first visit after Elia left, he’d impressed on Jack how much of a mistake that would be. He hadn’t been hanging out with the crowd at the scrapyard for that long and he was only 15 going on 16, but Jack hadn’t laughed at him, had said he would take care of Ellie, and that had felt important. And their little girl Tamsin is just the sweetest thing Jensen’s even seen. 

Jensen doesn’t remember how it starts that particular evening, but it’s after supper. They'd had cake and candles and sung him a song and everything. His father hadn’t really joined in, just muttered something about there being no point in celebrating his son growing up a fag, but they’d mostly managed to ignore him. Maybe his mother is clearing the plates away too loudly now or something, but whatever bullshit excuse it is, within sixty seconds of Pa Ackles opening his mouth, he’s gone from talking to shouting, Jensen’s mother is crying, and Ashley is where she always is these days, standing in front of her mother absorbing the blows, her face a blank, even as she gasps out little huffs of pain each time her father strikes her. 

Jensen’s been in a few fights in the last few years, but he’s never managed to stand up to his father. Years of being called a queer, a sissy, a no-good pussy boy, not man enough for anything, has left him feeling powerless in the face of his father’s drunken rages. 

He’s not sure what’s different tonight. Working with the guys at the scrap metal yard that is nominally their base of operations has certainly helped him gain bulk as he’s gained height, but he’s not that built yet. All he knows is that sound of Ashley’s teeth slamming together as she takes a fist under her jaw is like a starting pistol firing. 

He’s on his feet, one arm wrapped round his father’s throat from behind, the other punching him in the side below the ribcage, screaming at his mother and sister to get the hell out. 

His father is hollering, jabbing back with both elbows, kicking back into Jensen’s shins and some of the blows are landing, and really, he feels it should hurt more, but time has slowed right down for Jensen, the air feels thick like treacle, and he’s almost outside himself, observing what’s going on. 

Winded by an elbow to the stomach, Jensen finally lets go, and they break apart. His father’s wheezing, swearing at him, saying Jensen’s a panty-wetting sissy who’s got no business stopping him treating his wife the way he wants. Jensen’s too busy marvelling at the drunken, slurring wreck of a man in front of him. This was what he’s been afraid of for so long? This is nothing. 

As his father pauses for breath, they both hear it, Ashley’s firm command, “Come _on_ , Mom!” and the front door slamming. If they’ve got any sense, Jensen thinks, they’ll have taken Nina and Darcy with them. 

The sound seems to spur his father back into action, he launches himself at Jensen, fists a drunken flail, Jensen dodging most of the blows. He tries to push his father off him, his own anger tearing its way out of his throat in a rage-drenched scream as he drives him towards the wall by the kitchen door. There’s a sharp crack as the man’s head hits the plaster, his eyes roll back in their sockets and he slumps to the floor. 

Jensen calls Steve Williams to help him out. He’s been teaching Jensen knife fighting, all kinds of blade skills, and outside of his mother and sisters, he’s pretty much the only person Jensen 100 per cent trusts in the whole world. 

He comes round with his truck and a tarp and they carry Ackles Senior out the back, away from the potential prying eyes of any nosy neighbours. 

They’re on a piece of waste ground not far from the scrapyard when Jensen finally puts an end to it. 

“You got to take the head off boy, and his hands and feet. They can lift a print off of pretty much anything these days,” Steve advises. 

He hands Jensen a _goddamn samurai sword_ and lets him get on with it. And if there’s a faint whimper as Jensen takes off the prone man’s feet and hands, and if the blood spurts like the heart’s still pumping when the limbs and head come off, and if maybe his father wasn’t quite as dead as he thought he was, then it just makes the final stroke of the sword that little bit sweeter. 

They burn the body in one ditch and the head, feet and hands in another. Watch until the flames die down and bury the remains. Then Steve teaches Jensen all about the art of the clean-up. 

When Ashley brings mom and the others back a couple of days later Jensen tells them some of the truth. 

“He’s never coming back, Mom. I promise. I took care of it.” 

And if Ashley understands more from that than their mother does, Jensen knows he can trust her. 

The guys at the yard start to look at him with newfound respect. And he starts getting taken along on more complex, more dangerous jobs, shortly after. 

Pa Ackles’ drinking buddies never do find out what happened to him.

 

~~~

 

Jensen first meets Misha at a karaoke drag bar. It’s his birthday, five years to the day since he killed his father.

He's dolled up to the nines, fishnets, mini skirt, platforms, the whole shebang, and belting out "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair" because there are surprisingly few songs that detail the exact of emotional state that comes with beheading your scum of the earth dad, chopping his hands and feet off and burning the resulting pieces in a couple of ditches. 

And what the hell, Jensen's always been a sucker for a showtune. 

And then he spots him. The punter's got the bluest eyes that Jensen's ever seen. And once he's noticed him, he can't help but realise that he's keeping those bright blue peepers fixed firmly on Jensen. 

Jensen’s already putting on a show and he doesn't care who sees, but it’s jeeeust possible he starts to vamp it up that little bit more from then on. His gaze keeps being drawn back to the guy. When the song ends, most people clap and he gets a few whoops of appreciation from the drunker audience members. 

Old Blue Eyes just stares at him some more, a faint smile playing over his face. He certainly has a way about him that Jensen can appreciate. So, when a drink is sent over to his table a few minutes after he’s finished singing, he is more than happy to accept. It’s a caipirinha and Jensen really likes that his admirer didn’t just go for the obvious, like a Sex on the Beach or a Long Slow Screw Up Against the Wall. Not that he would say no to either with this man. He seeks him out, their eyes finding each other at almost the exact same moment. Jensen raises his glass and then turns, so the blue-eyed stranger gets his profile full on as he starts to drink, stretch his neck and swallow. 

He’s not all surprised when he feels a light touch at his elbow a few minutes later. 

What does surprise him is the first thing the man says to him. 

“Which do you prefer, rubber ducks or rubber chickens?” 

“Excuse you?” 

“It’s a simple enough question.” His grin would make the Joker look sane, but Jensen isn’t Batman, and he thinks it’s adorable. 

He thinks about if for a moment. “Rubber ducks. Rubber chickens look too much like the real thing y’ know? And it freaks me out.”

”Excellent choice. You won’t regret it later.” 

“What’s happening later?” 

The man with the blue eyes leans in and whispers in his ear.  

Jensen looks at him, debating whether or not to laugh.

“Are you serious? Are you insane?” 

“I just see things differently from other people.” 

“No shit. What’s your name?” 

“Misha.” 

“I’m Jensen. But you can call me Jenny.” 

 Misha shakes his hand. “Thank you, I’d like that.” 

Later, when he’s fucking Misha in a playroom that basically consists of a giant ball pit filled with novelty rubber ducks, Jensen finds he’s simultaneously relieved and disappointed that he didn’t pick the rubber chicken option. He says as much to Misha. The smaller man just grins back at him, breath catching slightly each time Jensen pushes slowly into him. 

“Don’t worry Jenny, you can find out all about that next time. I’ve got so much I want to show you.” 

Some people have rooms specially set aside for sex. Some people have basement sex dungeons. Turns out Misha has what Jensen’s decided to call a sex penthouse. 

And yeah, it hadn’t escaped Jensen’s notice that his partner for this evening’s sexathon had taken him back to a mansion. He wonders briefly what he might be getting himself into, before deciding that for a guy this hot and a setup this intriguing, he simply doesn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still keeping half an eye out for anyone who might be willing to help me check for any British inconsistencies that wouldn't make sense in an American context. If that's you, please leave me an e-mail in the comments! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Ferris doesn't drink coffee. Doesn't mean she isn't the best at the goddamn job in their whole department. Until Jeff turns up.

Sam Ferris is hungover. It’s not a good look on her at the best of times, but especially not the morning after the wake for one of her close colleagues and oldest friends at the Bureau. Whitfield and Ferris had been paired together from day one. Until one of Pellegrino’s goons had put a bullet in him last week. _It should’ve been me_ is the completely illogical thought track playing on repeat in Sam’s head. And to make matters worse she’s severely under-caffeinated. Sam doesn’t drink coffee. It’s a source of constant amusement among her colleagues. Mostly she drinks water. It helps keep you hydrated and caffeine’s a diuretic anyway so it’s not like it hampers her any more than those other sons of bitches. But it still leaves her open to regular wisecracks about not being proper law enforcement. And if she drinks the odd can of soda every now and then just to speed things along, it’s no one’s goddamn business but hers.

She’s been standing in front of the vending machine for a full five minutes, vacillating over her choice of caffeinated, carbonated beverage, before she realises she’s crying. Charles is never going to mock her about her fondness for cherry-flavoured Dr Pepper ever again. She pulls herself together, slams the coins in the vending machine slot like it’s the one that did her wrong and takes her can of soda back into the main office. 

Her boss, Jim Beaver, is waiting for her by her desk. She greets him, feeling tired and hollow.

“Jim.”

“Hey Sam.”

“What’s the word boss?”

“It’s Meet Your New Partner Day.”

Sam groans.

“Now come on Agent, don’t be like that. You knew I’d have to team your sorry ass with someone else eventually.”

She raises one eyebrow at him, then says “So who’d you get me? You know none of the losers in this office could hold a candle to Whitfield.”

“Oh he ain’t from round here, he’s a transfer in from Kansas. Came here just for you.”

“Now is that right?” Sam’s sceptical.

Beaver grins. “Hell if I know. But he put in for a transfer and we had a vacancy. No one better to show a new guy the ropes.”

“You’re gonna have me babysitting a rookie? Come on Jim!”

He’s holding up his hands placatingly. “This guy ain’t a rookie, I promise, shit, he’s probably older’n you, he’s just from out of town okay? His boss swears he’s one of the best in his department.”

“So why’s he letting him go?”

“Says Jeff’s got a yearning for a change, said it was either that or lose him from the Bureau all together and he’s too good a fed for that.”

“When’s he getting here?”

“Due in 10. So finish your girly drink and get your game face on.”

“Screw you, boss.” Sam says, but there’s no heat in it.

“Now if only you’d ever done that, maybe you’d be in charge by now.” 

He pats her on the shoulder affectionately. She just looks at him.

“We all miss him, Sam, you know that, we’ll find the bastards that did this, I promise.”

“I know sir.” Sam will find them if it’s the last thing she does. But it’s not going to be easy.

~~~

She’s busy with some paperwork when her new partner puts in an appearance. He’s escorted in to the main office by Beaver who then takes him round the room introducing the rest of the team.

He’s leaving Sam until last which gives her plenty of opportunity to observe the new arrival.

He’s tall, broad, with pale skin and black hair. Ebony and ivory with intelligent, dark brown eyes, that are currently carefully assessing each new person. His five o’clock shadow gives him an attractively dangerous look, the thinking woman's bit of rough, Sam decides, but his smile seems friendly enough, even crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes. And Jim’s right, he’s definitely not a rookie. Maybe this won’t be too bad. He looks like he’s got a brain and knows how to use it. This is no babysitting assignment, that’s for sure. 

She snaps out of her reverie when Jim brings the newest member of the team over to her desk.

“And this is Agent Samantha Ferris. One of our best and your new partner. Doesn’t drink coffee, but we don’t hold that against her. Much.”

Sam rolls her eyes and holds out her hand. “Pleased to meet you. Please, call me Sam.”

Her hand is encased in a strong, calloused grip. It’s a firm handshake, but he’s not trying to break bones and she appreciates that he’s a mature enough asshole that he doesn’t need to bother with that kind of insecurity.

“Good to meet you Sam. I’m Jeffrey Morgan. Most people call me Jeff or JD.”

“JD?”

“Dean’s my middle name.”

She fixes him with an appraising look, “I’ll start with Jeff. See how we go from there.”

He smiles, letting go of her hand. “Sounds good to me.”

Beaver gestures behind her, to Whitfield’s old desk. “That’s where you can park yourself Jeff. You’ve had the tour, but if you got more questions, Sam’s your woman.”

Before he’s even done talking, Jeff is walking around behind her, pulling out the chair that Sam still thinks of as belonging to Charles. Even though he’s perfectly entitled, it just goes against her grain in a way that she can’t quite fathom.

“Jeff’s a big boy Jim, I’m sure he can figure this place out.”

She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her, she was intending to be grown up about this, she really was. But apparently the nerves connecting her brain to her mouth didn’t get the memo.

Either Jeff doesn’t notice the contempt in her voice, or he’s too polite to say anything.

~~~

Jeff’s not a bad guy really. Sam just can’t bring herself to warm up to him. They have an entirely professional working relationship. He’s dedicated, efficient and deadpan in a way she would really appreciate if she could only stop resenting him for not being Whitfield.

But something feels off about him, he’s _too_ good at this job. Too normal to be real. The only thing that sticks out is his sudden transfer from Kansas. So that’s where she starts. And uncovers more than perhaps she should.

It’s not too hard to track someone down these days, thanks to the mighty power of the internet, and that’s even before you take into account the resources available to her at the Bureau. But she’s not stupid nor lazy, so the only information she gets from work is his previous address.

Some strategic googling from the privacy of her own home gets her a lot more. The fire at his house, caused by faulty wiring, according to the investigators, while Jeff was out on a job. The dead wife. Also called Samantha. Much to Sam’s relief that’s the only similarity they share, looks-wise this woman was completely different. The timeframe puzzles Sam. Jeff’s wife had been dead for over a year before he decided to transfer. Maybe it just took him that long to start to recollect himself after the initial shock of grief.

She knows what she’s doing is wrong, knows she should be getting to know Jeff, getting to the point where he’s happy to tell her these things himself. But she can’t. She knows it’s not rational, but she just can’t. It would feel like admitting that Charles really isn’t coming back. Still not ready for that, no.

~~~

Pellegrino’s looking to expand his business. Into the meat trade, the human variety to be specific. Jared doesn’t entirely approve. Import and export is already complicated enough with all the human links they need to keep quiet. When the cargo has a mouth of its own, that’s yet another weak point in the chain. But the money... the money makes the extra risk worth it. Jared can practically see the dollar signs in the man’s eyes when he talks about it.

Then there’s just the slight problem that they’d be cutting in on Katherine Boecher’s market. Big time. Thankfully, while Pellegrino may be greedy, he’s not stupid, and he’s at least had the nous to set up a meeting to see if something could be worked out with her first, as an alternative to violence.

They’ve kept the teams small. Just five on each side. Two of Boecher’s associates are women. A small brunette and a short blonde to match. Jared gives them the usual cursory once over. Given Boecher’s business, it’s not surprising that she’d have some women in her hierarchy, but when they take up flanking positions either side of their boss at the table, he really starts paying attention. The two men station themselves in the two corners of the room behind their side of the table. Nothing about them stands out. Jared has people in the same places on Pellegrino’s side of the room. Everyone’s had the 21st Century equivalent of a pat down for wires, everyone’s clean, and all the weapons are in locked boxes guarded by two armed men standing outside the door. They’re going for a show of good faith and it’s as safe anything like this will ever be.

“Gentlemen,” Boecher is keeping it neutral, but Jared thinks he can detect a hint of amusement in her voice. And it’s true, Pellegrino’s team is all men but Jared doesn’t see anything funny in that. Blondie and the brown-haired one might be sitting there like they earned it, but Jared hasn’t seen anything yet that proves that to his satisfaction. 

Pellegrino has brought Sheppard along for this meeting. Man’s next to useless in a fight but he can cook the books like a gourmet chef. He’s here to offer generous compensation, in exchange for which, Boecher will cede them control of a portion of the traffic through the docks, with an option to expand depending on how the first six months goes. Jared figures Pellegrino will “expand aggressively” at that point. But by going in quietly to begin with, they can get the measure of Boecher’s organisation and then take them out at their leisure, once they get a sense of what they’re up against. 

But his employer is prepared to be all charm at this stage. Jared’s not sure Boecher will buy it, she wouldn’t have got to where she is by being a total pushover, but there’s no need to spook her at the outset.

“Ms Boecher, thank you for coming. May I present my accountant Mark Sheppard and Jared Padalecki, in charge of security.”

She acknowledges each of them separately with a nod of her head.

“And your associates are…?”

Boecher looks first to the blonde on her left and then the brunette on her right.

“This is Katie Cassidy and Genevieve Cortese.”

And that, right there, is the sign Jared needs of how much of a threat these women represent. Cassidy and Cortese. He’s heard of them, but never met them. Always assumed they were guys. The stories about them never included first names and no one was ever too clear on what they looked like. They’d been the go-to team for torture and information extraction in the industrial district, before dropping off the radar a few years back. Not arrested, the cops would’ve made some noise about it, but widely presumed inactive. He wonders what drew them to Boecher. Or maybe she found them. Cassidy and Cortese. They like to gut people. Slowly.

“Ladies. A pleasure.”

“Oh, she’s no lady.”

Cassidy’s the one who spoke, now grinning like a crocodile. Cortese’s scanning the room intently, dark brown eyes daring anyone to contradict her. No one does.  
Pellegrino reads the dominance display for what it is and ignores it, moving smoothly on with business.

“Ms Boecher, you’re a businesswoman, I’m a business man. I’m looking to expand, you know how it is.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You want a slice of my pie is how it is. Maybe you wanna take the whole damn thing. That’s never happening, no matter how much sweet talking you try.”

Pellegrino throws up his hands in a “Who? Me?” gesture that would almost be convincing, Jared thinks, if you didn’t know the man.

“Please, Ms Boecher, your outfit are the experts here, we could never hope to compete, but we can get you a foothold in a whole new market.”

“I’m listening.”

“North Africa, specifically through Libya.”

“Tell me more.”

Her expression tells Jared she’s sceptical, but her tone says she’s still interested.

Pellegrino continues, “I have a family ties there, from the Italian colonial migrations last century. It's a failed state, people are desperate for a way out. It's a much longer voyage, but I'm willing to give you one million, cash, up front, for the chance to find out whether people would rather stump up for a months-long voyage on a legitimate cargo ship over two nights in a leaky rubber dinghy that will, in all probability, dump them in the Med to drown ten minutes out from the shore. Particularly with the offer of paid domestic work once they reach the good ol' US of A."

"Tempting offer, _gentlemen_."

Boecher's poker face is good, but still the disdain seeps through.

"You don't have to come to a decision today," Pellegrino replies. "I'm a patient man, but you should know..." He pauses, smiles, meaning clear. "My patience is not without limits."

"You'll have your answer. We'll meet again in a week. I'll be in touch about the rendezvous. Have a nice day."

Boecher leaves first, her two men from the corners of the room following her immediately. Cassidy and Cortese stand in sync, push their chairs back and turn towards each other, before walking out side by side. It doesn’t look rehearsed and Jared guesses they’ve spent a lot of time together. Intimate time.

He waits behind with Pellegrino and Sheppard as agreed, with Jared's two men filing out to reclaim their guns.

"Think they'll go for it?" Pellegrino's asking Sheppard almost immediately. He may be the money man, but Jared knows from experience that he's a brilliant reader of people too.

Sheppard shrugs. "Could go either way, boss. She's intrigued, but next week is just as likely to be an ambush to try to take us out before we get started as it is to be her accepting our offer. I would say it’s likely to depend on her resources. If she thinks she can take you out, she probably will. But… she knows your offer is genuine."

"Good to know." Pellegrino turns to Jared, "Prepare accordingly." Small and concealed it is.

"Now if you'll excuse us Mark, I need to speak to Jared in private."

Since when?

As the door closes behind Sheppard, Jared moves to stand, but Pellegrino drops a hand on his shoulder pushing him gently back down.

"I've been thinking, Collins was right…”

The diamond job was a couple of months ago, and Jared had been hoping Pellegrino had forgotten all about the ridiculous suggestion that he start sleeping with Jared as part payment. Damn it. Misha fucking Collins. This needs nipping in the bud, right from the get go.

"It's not a good idea."

"No?"

"You're not my type."

"Too old?" No, too close. Knows too much to begin with.

"You employ me." He almost says, "You're my boss" but pulls it back just in time.

"And I want to formalise some work placement harassment."

Jared is fast losing patience with this conversation.

"It's. Not. Safe." It's like talking to a child.

Pellegrino shrugs, giving him an almost goofy smile, "Safety's your job. Not my problem."

"It will be your problem if I'm too distracted to do my job properly."

Pellegrino sighs. "And I was going to give you a raise too."

Jared rolls his eyes. This job has never been about the money. “Are we done? I have work to do.”

Pellegrino sighs and dismisses him with a wave of his hand. Jared leaves, hoping that’s the end of it, not convinced that it is. He’s not worried, but this could get messy.

~~~

Beaver calls Ferris in to listen in his debrief of Whitfield. Their boss is quick and to the point as always.

“We’ve all read your transcript of the meeting, Charles. The question is, will Boecher go for it?”

Charles shrugs. “Difficult to say. We know she doesn’t trust easy. We're coming up on two years, but I’m still not sure she trusts me. I think the only people she really trusts are C Squared. And that’s only because they were all at grade school together.”

Sam supposes she’s heard crazier reasons to form a criminal syndicate and Charles has done an amazing job to make it so far into the inner sanctum. But there’s still a long way to go. The news about Pellegrino isn’t good. He’s been making more aggressive moves in recent times, teaming up with other crews when it suits him and managing to keep on good terms with most of them. They haven’t seen that kind of flexibility in a mob boss in these parts for a while. It makes things difficult, to say the least.

“What kind of resources does she have to keep her independence? Can she keep him off her turf?” Sam asks.

“I don’t think she has much back up beyond what we already know about, which is what makes me think she’ll probably take his offer. But she’s been suspicious of Pellegrino for a long time. As you know, she’s been watching all his team ups the same way we have and wondering when he’ll try it on with her. If she says no outright, it could provoke him into something drastic. And Ms Boecher is nothing if not cautious. But- 

“So she’s Ms Boecher now?” Sam interrupts. “What happened to ‘code names only’? What do you call her in bed, Mistress?” Charles flips her the bird, smiling all the while. This? This is nothing. Not even close to full throttle. He continues as if she hadn’t said a word.

“If she takes the cash she can at least recruit more muscle if she doesn’t trust him… Letting him buy in lets her get the measure of him.” 

Beaver nods and turns to Sam. “What’s the word, Agent? Pellegrino gonna follow the same game plan as before and make nice with these people? Or are we looking at a turf war?” 

“Can’t say for sure yet. We don’t have anyone on that side of the fence. They’re all loyal sons of bitches and we’ve had no luck getting close to him ourselves. Whitfield in that meeting with KB is the closest we’ve ever come. Would you take an informed opinion?” 

“Only ‘cause I like you,” Beaver replies.

“This feels different. Pellegrino’s team-ups with Collins have been one-offs, irregular. He’s never gone for anything long-term before. It’s either a merger or a hostile takeover and either way it makes me nervous.”

“Damnit, but l think you’re probably right. Charles, we need audio at that next meeting. We want to record this thing from the beginning if we’re gonna nail these bastards to the wall.” 

Sam supposes that at least creative criminals keep her work life interesting. Even with her well-known aversion to caffeine, she’s never set much store by the 9 to 5. Beaver looks from one to the other. “Charles, you’re doing a great job in there. Sam, put the word out,” he raises his hands placatingly before she can object, they’ve been down this road before, more than once, “Yes, I know, but maybe someone in the mob fraternity has had a change of circumstance we’re unaware of and wants to do the right thing. Dismissed.”

~~~

Boecher comes backs to them after three days. Sheppard tells Pellegrino it’s a good sign. If she was planning an ambush, she’d need longer to get set up. Jared’s been making contingency plans anyway. The meeting is fixed for a warehouse on the waterfront. He finds the most up-to-date schematics of the building he can. They more or less tally with the details Boecher’s people gave him. They’Il be meeting on her turf, a show of trust. And it’II be a chance to see part of what they’re paying to access. Pellegrino is slightly uneasy. It’s psychological self-reassurance, Sheppard says. Boecher doesn’t have the people to take them on so she’s picked a spot she knows. Where she feels in control. Jared doesn’t like it even more than Pellegrino does, but when things do go south, it’s not for any reason he anticipated.

And on the day itself, things go south fast. Both have sides have brought more people. Jared and a couple of others arrive at the rendezvous an hour and a half early for a quick bit of reconnoitring. There are lookouts, on regular patrol. Jared and his team get as close as they can without being spotted but the site is fenced off behind barbed wire and there is piss-all cover in the vicinity. But from what he can see using his binoculars from behind some waste bins, there aren’t any nasty surprises waiting for them. When Pellegrino’s entourage pulls up, Jared slips into the main car to give his report, while his men join their colleagues in the other vehicles.

“What’s she planning big man?”

Pellegrino’s taken to calling him that lately. Jared suffers through it with gritted teeth. For now. This won’t be forever. 

“Nothing obvious. If there are any surprises waiting for us, they’ll be inside.” 

“Good job.” Pellegrino squeezes his thigh affectionately.

“Take it off, or I’ll break it off.”

“Touchy.”

“This isn’t the time.”

Pellegrino sighs. “I suppose you’re right.”

Jared is always right, unlike some, he doesn’t need to say it out loud to make it true. It takes a lot to ruffle Jared’s feathers, but his normally tough-as-nails employer mooning over him like a lovesick schoolboy might just about do it. 

Their entourage pulls up to the gate in the wire fence and after same discussion, they’re waved through. Security pat downs will be done once they’re inside. Jared hadn’t been keen on accepting that particular condition and had said so. But Pellegrino had been swayed by Sheppard’s assessment of what they were walking into. That, and the money they stood to make. 

In the end, things don’t even reach that part. Boecher and Pellegrino have only just begun exchanging pleasantries, they haven’t even started the preliminaries of the security check, when he hears one of his men behind him say, “I know you, you’re a fucking fed!”

He doesn’t have time to react, beyond feeling the ripple through the air of the bullet passing his left ear before it rips into the throat of one of Boecher’s security men. He’s a broad-shouldered man, black, with sideburns and a shaved head. Jared briefly recognises him as Boecher’s trusted muscle from the first meet, before he collapses, blood spurting from the ruin of his throat. 

Everyone has their weapons out in seconds. The only reason no-one is shooting is because of the nature of the accusation.

Jared signals quickly to two of his team to secure their colleague. They’ll let him up if the situation deteriorates any further but it’s just possible they might walk out of here, no more shots fired. But Jared isn’t holding his breath. 

“You owe me a new head of security, _gentlemen_.” Boecher is all barely-controlled fury. Jared can see the tension in the line of her jaw, the flickering twitch under one eye. But her gun hand is steady and the weapon is pointed straight at Pellegrino’s forehead. He has his own gun up and ready, but is doing his best not to look like someone about to fire it. 

“Shall we establish the facts before anyone does anything they regret?” Pellegrino says gently.

“Oh, your man is going to regret that. I’m going to rip him apart myself. Piece by bloody piece until he’s a pile of scraps.” 

“Does it not occur to you that he might be right and you may have been compromised?” 

“No way. We’ve worked together over a year. Victor...” Jared winces as she catches herself being overly personal, before continuing, “Henriksen was clean, we checked him out. We did it right.” 

“She’s lying boss!” It’s the man who fired the shot. His name is Ed, Jared recalls. Not the type who had seemed prone to impulsiveness when they took him on, but there’s a first time for everything. 

“Is that so?” Pellegrino replies, voice dangerously soft. 

“Either she’s lying or she’s stupid. Guy tried to recruit me 18 months ago to spy on you.”

Boecher doesn’t look nearly as rattled as Jared would expect from someone hearing that information for the first time. Which means they’re fucked and need to get the hell out. Her next words confirm it.

“Maybe he did. Doesn’t mean he was a fed…”

Jared’s already motioning to his men to let Ed up. From the next words out of Pellegrino’s mouth, it’s obvious he’s worked it out too.

“Then I guess we really don’t have anything more to say to each other. We’ll be on our way.” 

“I don’t think I can allow that.” Boecher says. And fires.

Jared’s already moving as she starts to speak, detonating two smoke bombs and lobbing them between her and Pellegrino. He just makes out Pellegrino jumping clear of the bullet, before seeing anything becomes next to impossible. Jared hits the deck and crawls towards the spot where he knows he’ll find his employer. Behind him, his team let loose, chucking their own smoke bombs and shooting indiscriminately into the clouds of smoke in front of them. 

He reaches Pellegrino, who’s crouching down, gun at the ready, as they’d agreed he would be if they had to put this particular plan into action.

“This way,” Jared mouths, and they begin to crawl back towards their own people, and the way out.

They catch up with the others just in time to join the fight against the guards on the warehouse door who, unsurprisingly, aren’t that keen to let them walk out. But 10 against 2 are overwhelming odds and it’s not long before most of Pellegrino’s posse are sprinting across the tarmac to get to the cars, while two men provide cover fire. 

Three of theirs are still in the warehouse, but there’s no time. If they make it back under their own steam that’s a bonus, but if they don’t, they haven’t lost anyone with information about Pellegrino that’s worth anything. 

As soon as Pellegrino is in his car, Jared yells “Step on it!” and they’re speeding off. 

His blood is up from the sheer excitement of what just went down, meaning it takes a few seconds for him to realise that Pellegrino is kissing him full on the lips, hands clutching at his head. So when Jared manages to pull free and lay the man out cold with one punch to the jaw, it’s just the icing on the cake. 

~~~

“Come for a drink with me?” There’s the ghost of a question in there for propriety’s sake. But Sam knows a command when she hears one. She also knows that Jeff isn’t her boss, and says so. He looks at her, face unreadable. 

“Maybe I’m not your boss. But maybe we won’t have to have a conversation with him about why you’ve been poking your nose in where it’s not wanted. If your explanation doesn’t piss me the hell off.”

Sam thinks that’s probably more than fair enough, so she picks up her jacket from the back of her chair and grabs her car keys off her desk.

She drives, they don’t talk, and it’s good 40 minutes before she starts looking for somewhere to pull over. Jeff hasn’t said as much, but she’s pretty certain this is going to be a conversation that neither of them wants overheard, especially by anyone from work. It’s still relatively early when they find somewhere, the bar is almost empty and it’s a place with private alcoves around the walls. Sam sees Jeff safely ensconced in one of them before heading to the bar and coming back with two double whiskeys. Might as well start the grovelling early.

Jeff looks at her sideways. “You even know what I drink?”

Sam shrugs. “You seemed the type.”

“So, what else can you tell me about me?” There’s a lightness to his tone but she can tell he’s this close to banging his fist on the table and yelling at her.

“You cleared more cases than anyone on your team, you were headed up the ladder, it was all going to plan. And then, your wife died. House fire.”

“House fire, sure.”

“I read the report. They said there was an electrical fault. You knew any different, why didn’t you say?” 

“Couldn’t prove it, but I know I’m right.”

“Convince me.” Sam’s seen burn out before, next thing they both know, Jeff will have filled the office with postcards tacked to the walls, connected by bits of string.

“It was my last case, the one I couldn’t close. We were chasing a local gangster with an exuberant taste in offending. Name’s Misha Collins.” 

“What? Misha Collins is local to _Kansas?_ He pops up here all the damn time. Oh.” It’s all starting to make sense.

“He pops up in lots of places. Man’s a goddamn octopus. Tentacles everywhere, but he’s a Kansas boy, like me.” 

“What happened?” She means _Why is he after you?_ But Sam’s coming out of this conversation unscathed so far and she doesn’t want to ruin that by implying in any way that Jeff somehow caused his own wife’s death.

“Collins has always been creative. A few times explosively so. Ending with a fire became something of a signature move for him. I was the one tasked with bringing him down.”

Jeff pauses, but Sam doesn’t say anything. They both know he failed or they wouldn’t be having this conversation. 

“I managed to pick up a lot of his crew. At one point, we thought we’d maybe caught his arsonist. We hadn’t.” Jeff takes a sip of his whiskey, obviously willing himself to continue. 

“I don’t know if they meant to kill her. I think they just meant to destroy the house. I was out of town and Sam had told me she’d be visiting friends. And dropping bodies, especially civilians, isn’t really Collins’ style. Maybe she changed her mind, maybe he decided to really send me a message, I don’t know, but if moving here to take him down is what I have to do then so be it.”

“You took your time. Why’d you wait a year?”

“I had to do my research. And it was homework.” Jeff cracks his knuckles meaningfully. “You know what it’s like when you start looking into something after hours, when you shouldn’t.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t prompt her for more, but Jeff just spent the last 10 minutes spilling his guts and Sam knows a quid pro quo when it’s sat across from her drowning its sorrows.

“My partner. My former partner…” Goddamn it. Even saying that still hurts too much. And if she’s not careful, she’ll start crying again. “Whitfield. Charles. Was shot while undercover. By a gun monkey for one of our local big bosses.”

“There was nothing you could have done.” 

“I know that, of course I do. But that’s not the point. I heard him die. He was bugged and I heard it happen. And I hear it still. Most days.” 

“You hear enough to ID the shooter?”

Sam shakes her head. “You can hear him, but it’s faint. And it’s no one we were already aware of. Just a grunt.” 

“How’s the search going?”

“Badly. Charles was the case. The whole point was to get Boecher, this cartel boss, to trust him, so we could work on taking her out, and anyone else we could get a lead on would’ve been a bonus. There’s been a lot of human traffic coming in through the docks, on her say so. Kids mostly. We learned something big just before Charles died - another player was trying to buy into that market. Pellegrino, more traditional mob set-up. And we’d been trying to get something on him for the longest time. Anyway, the shooter was one of his. He’s had this habit lately of making alliances, making nice. We think him and Collins work together on the regular. I don’t know ‘bout you, but I don’t trust organised criminals who are _this_ organised.”

Jeff tilts his glass towards hers so they clink together. “I’ll drink to that.” 

This feels distinctly less terrible than it might have done. She should have gone drinking with Jeff days ago.

“How’s the investigation going?”

She shrugs. “As well as can be expected. Given that Beaver wouldn’t give me the case.”

“Did you really expect him to?”

“You know I didn’t. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck moose balls.”

“And you expect me to believe you aren’t researching the case every minute you’re not in the office?” 

“Would you believe me if I swore I hadn’t?”

Jeff gives her an old-fashioned look. 

“Fine. Maybe I’ve done some digging, but my guys are good guys. You don’t shit where you eat.”

“You just barge on into my life and shit there instead.” Harsh words, but their heat is muted. 

“I’m sorry. Hell, I’m really sorry. But I needed a distraction. And the way you transferred over here for no goddamn reason was just way too mysterious.” 

Jeff finishes his whiskey. “Perhaps we could help each other out.” 

“How exactly?”

“Give me everything this department has on Collins. Keep me up to date an anything new. And I’ll do some digging on Charles. No one will expect it from me. Oh, and I won’t rat you out to Beaver for spying on me.”

“You’re a real hero.” She can’t bring herself to be annoyed at the emotional blackmail, and Jeff’s thorough. He’ll see this through, that she’s sure of. “Done.”

They raise their glasses, clink, and drink.

If he wants revenge, Sam thinks she can get on board with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "That sucks moose balls." 
> 
> When I was at university, my friends and I fell into the habit of saying "that sucks balls" when something was annoying or particularly rubbish. Over time, we added "moose" as an intensifier for when something was even shittier than usual. I hadn't watched Supernatural at that point, but now that I have, it's taken on a whole new meaning. But it's still one of my default expressions.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have to get up early in the morning to stay one step ahead of Mark Pellegrino. But unfortunately for him, some of his enemies stay up all night.

It’s been too long since he’s had Jensen. Between one thing and another, they’ve both been pretty busy. But Pellegrino’s poor attempt at a come-on after that first meeting with Boecher had left Jared in no doubt exactly who he wanted, no, _needed_ to see and he’d picked up the phone.

For all that he thinks Misha Collins is Frankenstein’s Monster – minus several screws – he quite appreciates the man’s kink for letting, nay, _forcing_ Jensen to answer the phone while he’s mid-coitus. Sure, Jared may not be the man causing all those delightful sounds, but hearing Jensen struggle to string sentences together while Misha’s doing… whatever he’s doing to him gets Jared worked up in a sort of detached way they’ve both learned pays dividends later. Plus, there’s the fact that Misha doesn’t know it’s Jared Jensen is talking to. He’s in his phone several times, different numbers, different names, and always takes care to disguise his voice.

They’ve discussed it. Collins is definitely one for sharing. But they’re not sure that he’d be up for sharing Jensen with _Jared_. And given how often he and Pellegrino work together it’s probably best that their trysts remain a secret known only to them.

This time, it’s Misha who answers after two rings.

“Hi Nathan, I’m afraid Jensen can’t come to the phone right now, he’s a little pre-occupied. But he can come while you’re _on_ the phone, if that’s of interest to you?”

“Yes.”

“Great! Hold please.” There’s some muffled indistinctness as Misha re-arranges things his end and props up the phone.

“Hello caller, you’re on speaker. I’ve gone hands free so I can give Jensen my full attention.”

“Good to know.”

Misha likes to do most of the talking on these occasions. Jared’s all in favour. It makes it easier to keep his identity concealed.

“Have you had him before? I think you have, am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Ohhhh good. So you know exactly what he looks like.”

“Yes.”

“And did you want to talk to him about anything in particular?”

“Our next date actually.” It’s one of their codes. Jensen will know exactly what he’s talking about. Misha is apparently overjoyed for the two of them.

“Oh Nathan, you’re just too adorable. Well you can absolutely speak to him, just as soon as you’ve both come. Does that sound fair?”

“Yes.”

“A man of few words then, let’s see if I can persuade you to be more… vocal. Jensen, tell him what’s happening to you.”

There’s a dark promise in Misha’s voice that says Jensen better do as he’s told or the consequences will be prolonged, torturous and messy.

Jared lets a little shiver run through him as he remembers tracking Jensen down that time, keeping him confined for those precious few days they’d had together. Remembers making his prey bleed, making him come over and over again until he’d passed out. It really has been too long. Ok, only about a month, but when it comes to Jensen, Jared is not a patient man.

He knows from talking to Jensen that Misha is pretty much up for anything. He likes to be on top as much as he likes to bottom, likes to steer as much as he likes to be taken for a ride. He’s obviously in a controlling mood today.

This mercurial quality to Misha’s preferences is just one of many differences between them. Jared is not nearly so flexible. It’s not simply that he gets off on pain or control more than anything else. It’s that getting off any other way is impossible. And if the other person doesn’t get what they need from their encounters with him, that’s really not his problem. It’s lucky he and Jensen line up so well.

But Misha, _Misha_ sounds like he cares. Like he’s going to use Jensen’s body to tell a story meant only for Jared’s ears. He doesn’t understand what makes Misha care like that, but he’s going to savour every drop of enjoyment being exposed to its effects can bring him.

Misha may think he’s directing things. But he doesn’t know who’s _really_ listening in. The only one ever in full control of Jared is himself.

“Jensen.” Misha’s starting to sound impatient. Jared can sympathise.

“He’s got me… he’s got me cuffed to the bed. I’m spread out, can’t move.” Jared can see it all too clearly. Jensen, muscles taut and shining with sweat as he struggles. He likes to be restrained, Jared knows this, but he also likes to fight against it for all he’s worth. It’s no act either, Jensen’s constantly at war with his own desires when it comes to this. It’s one of the traits that make him such an excellent plaything.

“Tell him about the cuffs.”

“They’re leather, padded. Green.”

“Teal!” Misha snaps. “Get it right.”

“Really Mish? You’re gonna break off to bitch about the exact colour of ahhhh ahhhh…”

There are a few score long seconds without words, filled only with Jensen’s moans and the wet sounds of Misha’s tongue at work. Jared’s been stroking himself leisurely along with Jensen’s descriptions, but the switch to non-verbal does nothing to discourage his hard-on.

He hears an extravagant sigh as Misha comes up for air on the other end of the line, followed by the snap of a slap against Jensen’s backside.

“I didn’t say stop talking Ackles.”

“You made it damn near impossible to continue!” Jensen hasn’t come yet, Jared can tell, he’s far too coherent. But there’s a petulance in his tone, mingled with desperation, that says he’s getting closer.

“Why don’t you fill Nathan in on what happened? I’ll provide some inspiration. Again.”

"He…” Jensen’s breath catches, in the background Jared hears Misha chuckle, “He’s rimming me, god. It feels...  so wet... fucking tease.” It’s not Jared’s favourite thing in the world, he’s usually too fastidious for that, but hearing what it does to Jensen is just delicious.

There’s another slapping sound, which Jared guesses must be Misha for “Keep talking”, when he has his mouth full.

“His tongue, oh god. It’s…  he’s pushing it in my, in my ass, and his fingers, he, he…” Jensen ends on a moan that Jared echoes as he strokes himself. He knows exactly what Misha’s doing because Jensen’s begged him for it before. He’s demurred in the past, but hearing the sweet sounds it forces from the man’s mouth might be the one thing that’ll change his mind.

“Tell him how much you love it.” Misha again.

“I don’t, I can’t…”  When Jensen’s with Jared, he never lets himself sound this vulnerable. They both know why. Hearing him tremble under Misha’s onslaught has Jared almost coming himself, and he gives his own balls a tug that’s far from gentle to delay the inevitable. The sound he makes is half-moan, half-grunt.

“Still with us Nathan?”

“Yes.”

“Glad to hear it, because things are about to get even better. Jensen, please continue.”

Jensen’s breath is coming in ragged gasps, he’s struggling to make the words line up right. “He’s, he’s putting a plug in me, it’s… ahhhh, it’s big. Nearly as big as you. Oh.”

Jensen cuts off abruptly. Over the phone, Jared can make out a faint buzzing and smiles to himself. Misha Collins. Evil genius and sex fiend extraordinaire. He still despises the man, but his creativity in the bedroom can’t be faulted.

“Bastard. Just fuck me or let me fucking come already!” Jensen’s the perfect mix of angry, turned on and desperate.

“All in good time.” Misha sounds utterly relaxed in comparison. “Can’t have you losing interest while I get ready, now can we?”

Jensen’s moans start to rise in pitch and Jared wonders what’s going on. He’s stripping his cock faster and faster now, wanting Misha to get the hell on with things almost as much as Jensen does. He has his own plans for the man. But heaven is merciful and it seems even Misha Collins likes to come eventually.

“In case you’re wondering Nathan, this remote I have in my left hand is a wonderfully simple device. All I have to do it roll this little wheel one way…” he pauses so Jared can hear Jensen almost whine, “…and the device inside our mutual friend vibrates harder and harder. Roll it the other way…” There’s a moan as Jensen’s arousal dips slightly and he’s able to catch his breath. “I think you can work out what’s going on, can’t you?” Misha inquires.

“Yes.”

“Well that’s great Nathan, thank you so much for doing this with us. I just need to get myself ready. Jensen. Narration please. Now.”

There’s an audible swallow as Jensen fights for control of his voice. “He’s kneeling over me. Getting himself open. Got the remote in the other hand. Ahhhhh…”

At the mention of the remote, Jared hears the buzzing intensify, kicking up in pitch. He’s close now too, moving his hand faster, gripping tighter, giving his wrist a little twist each time he reaches the crown of his dick.

Jensen’s valiantly still trying to talk, but he’s fighting a losing battle. Jared can hear how his voice quivers and breaks, the way it does just before he comes. If Misha is planning on riding Jensen, he’s probably not going to get to enjoy it for very long. But then, that’s not what this is all about. Misha is a performance artist before all else.  

The moans coming from the phone take on a new urgency.

“Jensen.” Finally, Misha sounds like his self-control is starting to slip. Jared realises his own breathing has speeded up, got louder, and he’s now audible to the other two.

“That’s it boys.” He’s not sure how Misha manages to sound fondly concerned, paternal even, and horny as hell all at once, but Jared’s doing his best to tune him out, focusing intently on the torrent of filth pouring from Jensen’s mouth.

“Feels so good Mish, so tight, fuck, come on, harder, harder… Can take it, want it so bad…”

“You’re always. such. a. good. slut. for me Jen.” Misha’s voice is wrecked, Jared can hear it through the haze of his own arousal. Each time Misha pauses, Jensen moans like he’s dying and Jared guesses the other man must be slamming down onto him as he lies there, restrained and being ridden hard, just the way he likes it. He’ll give Jensen that and so much more the next time he sees him.

He’s been using lube, but now his own wetness is starting to spill down his prick and Jared groans in satisfaction, stroking himself with the mixture of precome and slick, listening to his own private porn show the whole time.

“Are you close, slut?” 

“So close Mish, god, don’t stop.”

“Won’t stop ‘til you fill me up Jenny, I’m going to drain you dry.”

Jared’s keyed up, blood throbbing in his cock as he rides the edge of his orgasm, he wants to wait to hear Jensen, and while he normally possesses a modicum of self-restraint, that’s all going to be academic in about 30 seconds.

Fortunately, they don’t keep him on edge much longer. Jensen’s reverted to non-verbal, his breath coming in bitten-off half words as he tries to speak and fails.

Misha’s not much better by this point, and Jared takes a perverse pleasure in hearing him finally lose control. He closes his eyes, shuts his world down to nothing but sound and sensation, and loses himself in Jensen falling to pieces as another man rides him like the beautiful toy he is.

Jared’s coming now too, gripping his dick tightly, and it feels so good, but he knows it’ll feel even better when he has Jensen to himself later, and it’s the anticipation of that as much as the sounds from the phone that punches the groans out of his gut as he finally spills over his fist.

There are a few seconds where no one talks and all Jared can hear is the sound of deep breaths on the other and of the line. That’s all they’re getting from him in response.

“So Nathan, I hope that was to your satisfaction. Thank you for your participation!” Misha sounds like Jared’s least favourite counsellor from summer camp all these years ago. “If you have any complaints, please be sure and let our customer service team know! I will leave you in their capable hands. I do hope you’ll come again soon!”

There’s a few moments’ pause, then rustling, shifting sounds as Jensen picks up the phone.

“Are we still on speaker?” Jared always checks, it would be beyond annoying to be discovered as a result of basic carelessness.

“No,” Jensen replies, “And Misha’s gone downstairs.”

“Good. You’re going to meet me later.”

“Okay.” It isn’t a request, but Jensen still answers it as if he had any say in the matter. Precious.

“Make sure you prepare yourself. I want you wearing a plug. Got that?”

There’s a breathless pause before Jensen answers, obviously already horny again.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“What are we doing this evening?”

Sometimes Jared likes to tease, but sometimes letting Jensen know exactly what’s in store has him deliciously desperate and wanting from the get go, despite having hours still to wait. There is an art to it that Jared appreciates.

“I’m going to drug you.” Jensen’s breath is already coming in short little pants.

“Not enough to knock you out completely, not enough so you don’t remember…” Jared lets that thought sink in before continuing.

“Just enough that you can’t fight back, enough that you won’t be able stop me, even if you wanted to. Sound good?”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“But you’re still gonna show.” Again, it’s not a question, but Jensen still gives the gives the right answer.

“Yes.”

“I’ll text you a time and location. Don’t be late.”

Jared ends the call and goes to prepare his room for later.

 

~~~

 

They meet in a bar. Jensen feels like he’s been on edge for _days_ , even though it’s only a matter of hours. He buys them both drinks and then it’s just a question of Jared slipping in some colourless liquid into his drink when he’s not looking. They haven’t done this before, but he knows it’s not Jared’s first time. He doesn’t want to know about the guinea pigs. The guy or guys Jared had mentioned in passing, who’d helped him refine the drug until it does what Jared says it does. They’re not important. What’s important is being on the end of all that attention. Jared’s got it focused on him like a laser beam, his eyes dark, assessing, hungry. It makes Jensen feel self-conscious and turned on at the same time, intimately aware of the glass already holding him open. And despite the obvious lack of subtlety in the gaze Jared has fixed on him, Jensen still manages to miss the moment his drink is spiked.

He’s aware of feeling light but heavy, his mind floating even as his body feels like it’s turned to lead. And he’s getting more and more tactile, leaning into Jared, resting his head on his shoulder, wanting to have as much of his body in contact with Jared as humanly possible.

When they leave around 40 minutes after they first arrived, Jensen finds he’s having trouble staying on his feet. When they arrive back at Jared’s apartment, the rope-and-pulley system he has set up in his room look like everything Jensen feels he needs right now. The chafe of the rope around his wrists as Jared starts to hoist him into place is the most amazing thing he’s felt so far all evening, and it only gets better from then on.

Next morning, Jensen is a cuddly, bruised mess, who insists on snuggling against Jared’s bare chest every 10 seconds. He’s still a little woozy from the after effects of the drug, and the most coherent part of him knows that Jared is indulging him in this behaviour. Cuddles don’t normally feature highly on their list of post-coital activities. But that’s part and parcel of sleeping with a psychopath, or whatever the hell Jared is, Jensen reasons. Last night is a blur of memory and sensation, he can remember vivid snatches, can see the marks on his body that show him he wasn’t dreaming, but there’s no coherent thread there. He presses gently on a handprint spread of bruises on his left thigh, wincing in pleasure at the sensation. He knows… thinks, _remembers_ , because Jared has told him, that he won’t be fully with it for a little while longer. The little flashes of pain help give him clarity.

It takes a few moments for him to realise that Jared is staring at him intently, probably has been for a good five minutes at least. Jensen stares back. Doesn’t stop touching his bruises.

“I should keep you here really,” Jared says finally. “To teach Misha a lesson.”

“Why d’you want to teach Misha a lesson?”

“Because he’s made my working life rather difficult. Do you know why you’re here?”

“’Cause you’re a horny sssonofabitch?” He slurs the last words together, brain still surfacing gradually from the sea of chemicals.

“Because Pellegrino tried it on with me. And it’s Misha’s fault for giving him the idea in the first place. But when he made a pass, all I could think about was you.”

“Aw Princess.” Jensen grins up at him stupidly. “Didn’t know you cared. Don’t tell me the Tin Man finally grew a heart.”

Jared smiles. Or at least, shows his shockingly white teeth. Jensen’s can't remember ever seeing him _really_ smile.

“Not yet. But I know what I like. And I don’t like distractions. If Pellegrino can’t keep his head in the game, it’ll be time to split. Move on, do something else.”

Jensen’s not sure he likes the sound of that.

“Do what? Where would you go?”

Jared shrugs, not worried. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got enough money to go wherever and just disappear for a while. Would probably have to, I don’t think he’s the type to just let me leave without repercussions.”

Jensen tries not to wait to be asked to go with him. He knows Jared isn’t wired like that. But it would be a damn shame if he did leave. He’s pressing against his bruises, giving little sighs, almost reflexively.

He’d normally never say anything like this, doesn’t know if it’s still the after effects of the drugs, the fact that a recently-sated Jared is the least dangerous Jared, or something else entirely that makes him say it, risk the vulnerability of the admission, but still he says it anyway, what the hell. “I’d miss you.”

“I know you would.” Jared doesn’t sound smug, just thoughtful. “Maybe I could swing by and hunt you sometimes, just for old times’ sakes.”

And Jensen would like that, he really would. But it’s not enough.

Jared shrugs and Jensen can tell he’s thinking aloud. This is not for Jensen’s emotional benefit. But he likes that Jared trusts him with that much of himself. He’s seen the man on jobs, he knows this is unusual.

“We’ll see. Could be Pellegrino sorts his head out and it doesn’t come to that. There might be another way…”

Jensen hears himself saying, “You could just take him out. Then you wouldn’t need to go.”

Jared shakes his head. “No.”

“Why?”

“It’s not a job.”

Jensen scoffs. “Come on, I know for a fact you’ve killed enough people you weren’t being paid for.”

Jared fixes him with a look at that. “Only when they’d earned it. Pellegrino is of no interest to me.”

Jared has these weird rules with his killing people kink, Jensen knows this. He’s worked out enough of them that he’s still not dead himself, but he knows he still doesn’t really know what’s going on underneath all that ridiculously soft hair, not really.

He’s more awake now, all but the last few tendrils of the chemical fog dispersing from his mind, and it turns out he’s awake enough to be annoyed. “Fine, ignore the obvious solution, just… just tell me before you leave ok?”

“Someone’s being demanding this morning.” He can hear the undercurrent of amusement in Jared’s voice.

Jensen pulls back the duvet from the two of them and gestures towards his thighs, where he’s lying sprawled between Jared’s legs. “ _Someone_ fucking _earned it_.”

“I suppose they did.” Jared sounds almost fond. And then Jensen feels the teeth at the back of his neck and shudders as Jared bites down. He really doesn’t want to lose this.

 

~~~

 

There's an anonymous note on Sam's car when she comes out of the dry cleaners. It's underneath a flyer with some money off coupons for a local bowling alley that's been stuck under her windshield wiper and she almost throws it in a trashcan. But the form of address catches her eye at the last minute. One line, typed. Black ink. Agent Samantha Ferris. _Agent_

Whoever they are, they know who she is. They know where she is. They could be, strike that, they probably _are_ watching her right now. Don't act like prey. _Don't act like prey_. Sam puts her dry cleaning on the back seat. Locks the car. Then, she walks carefully around it, checking for any other signs that someone's been tampering, even looking underneath with her compact mirror. Nothing there. But it also gives her the chance to scan the area around the car looking for any likely suspects.

She might be imagining it, (she's _not_ imagining it), but she catches something out of the corner of her eye. He's tall, whoever he is, but he's too far away for her to guess at anything other than at least six feet. And he's turning on his heel and walking off at just the wrong moment, right before they would have made eye contact.

He waited to check that she got the envelope, he didn't stick around to see if she opened it. So it's a message, not a hit.

She holds the envelope up to the light. The paper is white, semi-translucent, it weighs almost nothing. She should take it to the Bureau for analysis before she opens it. She should. She's not going to.

There's nothing malign in the contents, just a single piece of paper with one line of text, some GPS co-ordinates and a date and time.

“I have what you need on Mark Pellegrino."

It takes Sam a few seconds to realise that her legs have gone weak and she's leaning against the hood of her car for support.

 

~~~

 

“You punched me! You actually fucking punched me!”

Jared knows his grin is obscene, but he can’t help it. It had felt good. And it had been a long time coming.

He shrugs expansively. “You pay me to keep watch for security threats. External or internal. I told you before it was a distraction, and we couldn’t afford it.”

Pellegrino’s fuming, but they have bigger problems just now. One of the three left behind at Boecher’s managed to get out, but his intel on the other two doesn’t sound promising. Frank looked like he was bleeding out from several gunshot wounds. And Earl was unconscious, and being dragged away by Cortese and Cassidy. Jared expects pieces of him will start arriving in the mail soon. They like to keep it old school, those two.

Then there’s the matter of Ed. True, his warning had been just enough to give them a fighting chance. But his explanation that he’d kept quiet about Boecher’s attempts to recruit him, because he didn’t want his loyalty being called into question had cut no ice with Pellegrino. The man’s currently chained up behind a locked door in the basement of Pellegrino’s compound. Jared had seen to that himself. He won’t be killed, but they need to set an example. Information is currency right now and they need more of it. Fast. They can’t afford anyone else holding back little details which might become important later.

Sheppard’s nursing a broken arm, after catching a random bullet as they fled. Pellegrino’s doctor has seen to him, she’s on retainer for the entire staff, and Jared had watched as she’d set the bone, and placed the arm in a cast, while Sheppard had refused all medication he was offered. He’s earned Jared’s grudging respect. He doesn’t care for Sheppard much, but there’s apparently more to him than was previously apparent. That piece of information has been filed away for Jared’s later use.

“Boss, Jared has a point.” Apparently today is the day Sheppard’s chosen to surprise Jared every other minute. They’re not enemies, but mostly they just ignore one another. He can’t remember Sheppard actively backing him up on anything. Ever. What’s his game?

“Excuse you?” Evidently Pellegrino is as shocked as he is.

“You just started a turf war with one of our biggest rivals. Just because Padalecki likes to walk around in tight black jeans that make his arse look like an angel’s, it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to ogle it 24/7.”

They both turn to look at him, and Sheppard huffs in exasperation. “Oh look, a straight man with an appreciation of the physical aesthetic! Oh look, a crime lord with a crush who gives himself credit for a lot more subtlety than he actually possesses! Let’s move the fuck on, shall we? Jared is head of security. He’s already said it, but you’re obviously not listening. He _can’t_ afford the constant distraction of wondering whether you’re about to hit on him. It’s also not a good look if he actually has to hit you to get you to back off.” Sheppard’s gesturing at the noticeable swelling on Pellegrino’s face. “It makes you look weak. You either need to fire him or keep your hands to yourself.”

“And which one would you prefer?” Pellegrino drawls back, barely hiding the sarcasm.

Jared’s waiting. This should be good. From the look Pellegrino’s giving him, Sheppard’s either going to come out of this on top or not at all.

“I’d _prefer_ it if we didn’t bring anyone new in at this stage. I’d _prefer_ it if you hadn’t just kicked the hornet’s nest. I’d _prefer_ it if it hadn’t just become quite plain that we either underestimated Boecher or someone’s been feeding us shite for intel. I’d _prefer_ it if you could keep your eyes in your head and your prick in your pants, but obviously what I’d _prefer_ , and, may I remind you, the future of this whole fucking enterprise, comes second to the fact you are a short-sighted idiot of gargantuan fucking proportions!”

Jared’s not one prone to breaking out in spontaneous applause, but in his head, he’s giving Sheppard a standing ovation.

Their boss is somewhat nonplussed, he can tell. This whole thing has Sheppard seriously riled up, he never normally explodes like this and the look on Pellegrino’s face shows plainly this tirade was unexpected. Maybe the broken arm is making him twitchy.

Pellegrino turns to Jared. “And I suppose you agree with him?”

“You know I do. You need to back off, and we need to plan our next move with Boecher.”

He waits. Pellegrino can be a stubborn son of a bitch, but against the two of them, Jared really hopes he’ll see reason.

The cold blue eyes are assessing them. And he can see the moment Pellegrino makes the decision.

“Fine. I won’t mix business with pleasure. For now.”

Jared can live with that. If things get complicated later, he can take steps. This job was never about the money, and it was never going to be permanent. If he has to burn his bridges, his contacts can always find him something else. One contact in particular.

Sheppard lets out an expressive sigh. “Well thank Christ for that. So what’s the plan?”

There’s the soft sound of 100% cotton shirt sleeves being rolled up, as Pellegrino prepares himself for a bit of wet work.

“I’m going to have a little chat with our man downstairs.” He rolls his head around, cricks his jaw, “Work out some...” he pauses, eyes flickering over to Jared, intentions plain, “…tension.”

Jared ignores him. He has his own work to do. “I’ll go back over what we think we know about Boecher, try to separate fact from fiction. I don’t know if you still want to go through with it, but we’ll have to put the Collins project on hold for now.”

Sheppard looks up sharply and turns on Pellegrino. “What the fuck’s going on? You’re bringing in Misha fucking Collins on a job again and didn’t fucking tell me?”

“It’s not like that,” Pellegrino replies smoothly. “I’d just asked Jared to look into the possibility of… removing our excitable little friend from the board. Discreetly. Or at least, in a way that can’t be traced back to us.” He raises his hands placatingly, “Nothing’s in motion yet.”

The mob accountant just rolls his eyes, it seems he’s done exploding for the day. “And I thought I couldn’t be involved in any more of a clusterfuck. How many bosses are you trying to take out? No, wait, don’t even start. I’m going for a drink. Maybe when I’ve sobered up, you’ll have regained your senses and have something approaching a vaguely sensible plan.”

That leaves the two of them.

“Sure you don’t want to come watch, big man? You never know, it could be that’s your thing.”

Jared just glares at him until he leaves.

Later, after the screaming from the basement has stopped, and he’s finished scouring his intelligence files for any scrap of useful information, it just so happens Jared’s walking down the stairs to the exit, just as Pellegrino makes his way up from the basement.

He’s glistening with sweat, the dim lights in the stairwell giving the beads of moisture on the purple bruise on his cheek a faint shimmer. It’s almost beautiful in the half-light.

“Jared.”

He doesn’t answer. But still halts his steps, freezing at the implicit command in that voice.

“Do it again. Come on.” Pellegrino’s right in front of him, smells of blood and come, head tilted at an enticing angle. Offering the other cheek. The words a mixture of order and entreaty. Any other man in any other place, just holding it out like that, and Jared would be tearing into him until there was nothing left.

Just as well he’s always been able to compartmentalise.

“No.”

The door slams behind him as he walks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly Susan remembered this story originally started as a smutty one shot... and that we hadn't had any porn or, more importantly, any Misha, for a raaaather long time. And then she realised that she could use it to work in plot points AS WELL, so both the Smut and Plot Gods were satisfied. So _that_ that was alright best beloved. (Note to self: Referencing The Just So Stories at a time like this? Really?)
> 
> Anyhoo, my beta is on her hols, so this is presented in all its unvarnished, terrible glory. I've read it through a few times to the point where I have no idea if it makes sense anymore, and if there are more errors, familiarity is hiding them from me, so please let me know if you spot anything. As ever, thanks for reading! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared doesn't give up control very often. But when he does, he goes all in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware it's taken me a very long time to update this. Sorry for the delay, I got horrendously stuck on this chapter and then once I'd worked out I was trying to include too much and needed to separate things out, in then took me a ridiculously long time to write anything I was even remotely happy with. I blame the stresses of living in a foreign country, anxiety over moving house and whether my job is secure, and just general seasonal depression. Doing better now and part of the next chapter is already done so hopefully it will come sooner than this one.

They’ve not done it at Jensen’s house much. He doesn’t have the paraphernalia that Jared does. But he does have knives. A lot of knives.

They start off throwing at targets in the backyard. The property stands on its own plot of land and the hedges are high on all three sides. The back wall is also a mass of padding behind the targets Jensen has set up, so there’s little chance of a knife going astray, or of anyone spotting them.

Jared’s not easily impressed, but watching Jensen throw knives is mesmerising. He moves as if the blade is part of him and then all of a sudden, it’s not, it’s splitting a twig behind him directly in half at 30 paces. Jared’s half-expecting the thing to pull itself free of the wood with a reverse thunk and arc its way back to Jensen.

“Where did you learn to throw like that?”

“Scrapyard. Back home. One of the bosses there, Steve Williams, taught me.”

“Taught you everything you know?”

Jensen smiles, “And not even half of what he knows. The man’s a genius. Like you are with a gun. That water balloon shot was insane.”

Jared feels himself frowning, “You weren’t on that job.”

“I wasn’t. But Misha had one of his guys tape it. He wanted a souvenir of the time he soaked Pellegrino. Or at least that was the plan, until somebody took a wrecking ball to it. The footage gets an airing sometimes.”

Misha taped that? Just one more loose end to tie up. Christ, that man annoys him. Aloud he says, “So that’s why he decided to ruin my life.”

A shake of the head as Jensen walks to retrieve the last few blades they’ve thrown, Jared following behind for the sake of the conversation. “Misha’s not like that. He’s impulsive. He’ll plan heists down to the molecular level, but when it comes to people… we have so much fun together, honestly, he probably thought he was doing you a favour.”

“Stop talking about him.”

“Make me.” There’s naked challenge in Jensen’s tone and he’s completely relaxed, like a coiled spring is relaxed. With a knife in each hand. He’s different here, Jared realises. Less eager to please, more focused. On home turf, with his weapon of choice. And as the last to throw, Jared’s now unarmed. Neither of them have been slouches at the gym lately and Jared’s not a total stranger to knife fighting. But still… with no weapon of his own against an opponent who knows exactly what he’s doing… This could be fun.

Jensen moves, blade glittering in the sunlight. Jared reacts and it’s barely in time. He sidesteps and kicks out, aiming for the side of Jensen’s kneecap, wanting to bring him down so he can lay him out with a kick to the head or something, keep as far away from the knives as possible but Jensen sidesteps with him, bringing his shin up to absorb the kick. They both recoil, Jared taking the opportunity to get a good bit of space between them. Yes, his opponet can kill with his knives almost effectively at a distance as he can up close, but that’s not what this is about.

They start circling, face to face, Jared can see his killer grin reflected in Jensen’s. The yard around them is bare, cropped grass, lawn kept tidy, no fallen branches he could use as weapon to provide some distance. All the advice on these things is to run away from an opponent armed with a knife as soon as you can. But it’s Jensen, Jared’s not going anywhere. Then he has an idea. It’s crazy and it probably won’t work, but he’s 100% certain he’s not going to die today.

Well, 99.99999% certain.

He reaches down, grasps the hem of his T-shirt. It’s not that warm, but it’s not that cold either, and with his blood up, he doesn’t really notice the temperature.

Seconds later, his shirt’s off. It’s not much of a weapon, but maybe he can use it to entangle one of Jensen’s hands if he rushes him. Of course, it does mean he’s half naked. And of course, Jensen’s noticed. He’s eyeing Jared sideways as they circle, both trying to present as small a target as possible. But maybe that was the plan all along.

“You fight dirty Princess, anyone ever tell you that?”

“You complaining?” 

Jensen stands up straight, tension going out of his stance. He still has knives in both hands, but he’s holding them loosely, no longer an integral part of him. So Jared relaxes a fraction as Jensen walks towards him. 

“For someone who likes to make people bleed, you really should know more about these things.” Jensen’s voice is soft, low, full of promise.

“I can cut with them just fine.” It comes out more of a whisper than Jared intends.

Jensen’s directly in front of him now.

“You’re a butcher.”

“I’m an artist.”

A snort from Jensen. “And that’s what I thought you hated about Misha and me.”

Jared smiles to himself, maybe even lets it show on his face a little. Did he just make a joke? There’s a thing.

“I don’t hate you,” he says.

Jensen’s closed the distance between them, is much nearer than Jared realised. Near enough that when he raises one arm, knife in his grip, the tip of the blade is less than a hair’s breadth from Jared’s bare skin. He can feel the it, even though he knows it’s not touching him, the infinitesimal space between metal and flesh compressed until it feels like true pressure. Jensen wants to close the gap, Jared can see it in his eyes. And then it hits him with absolute certainty. If, when, Jensen moves the knife those final tiny fractions, he’s not going to stop him.

Well that’s new.

The tip of the metal is cool as it dents his skin. There’s no blood, just a light scratching sensation, almost tickling really, as Jensen drags the knifepoint down his torso. Jared doesn’t lean into it, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t know why, there are strange thoughts in his head, out of focus and too bright, but he wants to give Jensen this.

"Let's play a game."

Jared feels a lazy smile slowly turn his lips up at the corners. He's normally the one who says things like that.

"What are the terms?"

"You get three shots to shoot an apple off my head. Then I get three throws to knock an apple off yours. Whoever flinches loses."

"What's the forfeit if you flinch?"

Jensen shrugs. "I guess that depends on how injured it gets you."

"You know I could shoot an apple off your head with just one bullet?"

"Anyone ever teach you about delayed gratification? Besides, three shots gives you more chances to mess with me. And more chances to mess it up.” The catlike grin he shoots Jared lets him know precisely how much Jensen is enjoying this.

"And you're what, just gonna let me go first?"

"Sure. You're as good as you're always saying you are, I got nothing to worry about. I trust you. And I trust that you like fucking this fine ass enough not to put it at risk. Plus, you know me, I really like to delay my gratification...."

Jensen's still talking, but Jared's not listening. Because his brain tripped over the words "I trust you" and hasn't picked itself back up again.

Jensen trusts him? Jensen trusts him. That's ridiculous.

Valentine loves him and he loves her back, in his way. As much as he can. But she doesn't trust him, and never has. It was obvious from the moment she revealed she knew what he really is.

After everything they've done together, all the promises he has never made Jensen I will keep you safe, you will live through this, there will be a next time, and a time after that this feels... insane. But maybe it would feel like love, if that was anything Jared had ever understood. Maybe that’s what it is when he lets a man press a knife to his chest and doesn’t back away.

Jensen's still talking and Jared tunes back in just in time to hear him say, "but if you're going wuss out like some frickin' ginormo baby, that's fine too."

"Bring it." he hears himself say. Normal service is resuming.

They get set up, so Jensen has his back to the piles of industrial wadding covering the back wall. Wherever the bullets end up, they won't be leaving the yard. Jensen had run inside to bring out a couple of apples and now one of them is balanced perfectly atop his head.

Jared's going to use his Smith & Wesson handgun, fetched from the trunk of his car. You want a rifle for greater precision, but Jensen was happy with the choice of gun, and he’s not going to be that far away, and Jared will have time to line up the shot and, and, and… and it just all adds to the delicious uncertainty. He wants to do this, wants to play, but Jared feels that somewhere along the way, the stakes have changed. He has more to lose and more to gain than he’s ever had in his life. Jensen’s standing perfectly still, a few feet in front of the back wall. Waiting.

“You scared Princess? ‘Cause I’m not.”

And just like that, that’s all he needs. Even if someone ends up dead today, this game is nothing either of them would ever walk away from.

Jared’s first shot whistles past Jensen’s left ear. Jensen doesn’t move. Jared wants to see if he can change that.

He drops to the ground, resting his gun arm on one raised knee and bracing his other arm against the earth. 

He shoots straight through Jensen’s spread legs, the bullet passing close to his inner thighs. No reaction.

“You got one bullet left man, don’t tell me you’re gonna lose.” That mocking smile goads him on, and suddenly he’s standing with no memory of getting to his feet, poised, less than a second away from pulling the trigger for the final time. And as he looks at his target, finally, Jensen seems to be reacting, but he’s not afraid. It looks like he’s craning forward ever so slightly, the way Jared was almost leaning towards the knife. Wanting.

Jared feels his trigger finger move and then Jensen’s brushing sticky fragments of apple from his hair and licking the mess of them from his fingertips. It’s obscene and Jared is running towards him, bearing him to the ground without a second’s thought, because fuck delayed gratification. The gun’s still live but when Jared moves it up to his lips, Jensen accepts it in his mouth without complaint, moaning appreciatively as Jared grinds down against him. They’re both rock hard, he can feel it through the denim of their jeans. He works the gun in and out of Jensen’s mouth, his free hand carding through Jensen’s hair, gripping what he can to control his head and keep him on the ground.

The sounds Jensen is making around the gun muzzle are turning Jared on like nothing else. He wants, wants more, now. He tears the zip down on Jensen’s jeans, unbuttons his own, hears metal knock against enamel as the gun hits Jensen’s teeth on re-entry. And he’s not sorry, but he is desperate, in a way he can’t remember being since that first time with Chad in the forest all those years ago. He gets Jensen’s dick out the front of his boxers, pulls his own briefs down, spits in his hand and gets both their cocks together and yes, he has big hands, but still, it’s all he can do to fit both of them in his grip.

This isn’t going to last long, for either of them. Jensen’s eyelids are fluttering open and shut, and when they are open, all Jared can see are the whites of his eyes. Saliva is trickling down Jensen’s chin, leaking out the corners of his mouth as he sucks on the gun like his life depends on it. Feeling Jensen thrusting against him in the tight circle of his fingers, is rapidly eroding Jared’s ability to think and it’s all he can do to pull the gun out of Jensen’s mouth, flick the safety and slide it carefully away from them. And then his mouth is on Jensen’s, licking the gunmetal taste from his lips, biting and bringing blood to the surface, swallowing the moans as Jensen makes them. 

Jensen adds a hand to Jared’s where he’s jacking the two of them and starts to pick up the pace. The friction is intense, verging on uncomfortable, but Jared doesn’t care. He has everything he never knew he wanted spread out beneath him and that’s all that matters. 

Jared breaks off kissing to suck in a great lungful of air and revel in the hot mess of a man beneath him. Jensen’s lips are bruised, not quite bloody, his eyes unfocused but still as intensely green as ever, his breath coming in stuttering gasps.

“You said you trust me?” It’s new, still all so new, this desire to ask Jensen instead of just taking from him, but Jared’s in no state to analyse what the hell is going on there.

The half second it takes Jensen to nod feels like forever, but as soon as his head jerks, Jared pinches Jensen’s nose closed, takes a deep breath and then seals his lips over Jensen’s mouth. He breathes out slowly, but forcefully, and Jensen catches on right away. They breathe together, Jensen inhaling as Jared exhales, and vice-versa. It doesn’t take long before Jared starts to float, light-headed, and he can tell Jensen feels the same. There’s stress in this position, balanced on one elbow and his toes above Jensen, and Jared knows he has to come soon or this will rapidly become unsustainable. Their hands are already moving fast, the rough slide of their cocks together feeling so good, but Jared ups the pace again and then suddenly it’s easier, Jensen’s shaft pulsing against his, Jensen’s come slicking their fingers. Jared doesn’t let up for second, jacking them both until it must be way past uncomfortable for Jensen, sucking all the air from Jensen’s chest until he’s almost stopped moving, until Jared’s coming so hard his vision finally whites out from the force of his orgasm and a lack of oxygen.

The next thing he knows, he’s lying flat on his back, breathing hard, heartrate still high, but gradually slowing. Jensen is next to him, head turned and looking at him, eyes bright and smiling.

“How was fairyland Princess?”

Jared ignores that remark.

“How long was I out?”

Jensen pushes himself into a sitting position and shrugs. “No idea. I passed out too. You ready for your apple?”

Jared raises his head slightly. He’s still half naked, jeans and underwear pushed down past his hips and his stomach is covered in dried semen. Arching his back, he pulls his briefs up, yanks his jeans up and buttons his fly. The rest can wait.

His legs feel a bit shaky, but he ignores them, that usually works.

A few moments later, he’s ready and staring at Jensen, as the other man squints at him through one eye as he sights on him, knife ready.

He hears “Eyes open, Princess.” And almost jerks guiltily. He hadn’t realised they were shut. He’s not nervous. He’s not. He trusts Jensen, he realises. He just not too sure about himself right now. It’s been a strange afternoon.

Jensen’s knife pierces the apple on the first throw. And before Jared can register that that’s it, the game is over, Jensen is in front of him, one hand round the back of his head pulling him in for a kiss. It’s just a kiss and it doesn’t lead to anything else, but when he looks at it later, Jared knows it was a sign of something fundamental re-arranging itself in his personal universe.

When they break apart, neither of them says anything, but Jared lets Jensen clasp one hand in his and lead him into the house to get cleaned up.

~~~

He never intended to spend the night. That’s not who they are and, except for those times Jared’s had Jensen strung up at his place, that’s not really what they do. But after showering, getting takeaway pizza and washing it down with a couple of beers, it all feels so normal, so natural. Jared’s blissed out, in a way he’s not used to. When Jensen starts making out with him on the couch, he goes with it, kissing languorous and slow, quite different from the insane need of earlier, the drive to taste, claim, control.

They’ve been doing nothing more than that, just kissing, fully-clothed, for about 10 minutes, when it comes to a halt, quite naturally. They’re lying side by side on the couch, practically nose to nose, and Jared finds himself gazing deep into Jensen’s eyes. Maybe if he stares long enough he’ll find what it was about the man that affected him so deeply earlier. 

Jensen says gently, “You’re staring.”

“You’re pretty.”

“True.”

“Why do you trust me?”

“Why does it bother you?” 

Jared thinks about that for a while and finally comes up with, “Because it doesn’t make sense.”

"A lot of things in this world don't make sense. Why you picking this to care about?"

"Because I could have killed you."

"Could have. Didn't. Nothing new about that. And 'sides, Once you were done, I could have killed you."

Jared thinks about that statement. Technically it's true, but...

"But of the two of us, you have to admit it's less likely."

Jensen shrugs. "I don't need it the way you seem to, but hello, kill monkey for hire here. It's not like I don't know how."

There's silence for a few moments as Jared considers it. Jensen's definitely a killer. But it's more out of pragmatism than a need to slake his bloodlust.

So he asks, "Who was your first?"

"My father. And that's all you're getting of that story so don't even think about it."

Huh. Maybe not so pragmatic after all. But he can pick at that scab later. This is turning into one of the longest conversations they've ever had that wasn't about work or during sex and Jared finds he doesn't want to derail it.

When he focuses his full attention back on the man in front of him, Jensen's looking at him curiously, as if he expected more of a reaction.

"You must have had a good reason," Jared hears himself say. From the expression Jensen’s wearing, that seems to be what he was waiting for.

"Who was yours?"

Jared laughs, "Nothing like so momentous. Just some guy in a bar. He was pretty, but damn was he annoying."

"You killed him because he was annoying? Jensen's smirking at him. "So petty, Princess."

Jared bristles slightly, not at the nickname, but at the imputed motive.

"He broke the rules."

"And what exactly are the rules?"

Now Jensen's gaze is laser-focused on him, and suddenly Jared doesn't want to talk. They've veered off track. He presses his lips together.

"Come on beautiful, not going to give me even a tiny hint? I take my life in my hands every time I go to bed with you. Haven’t I earned a little hint? It's like sleeping with a cobra."

"But you've always known that. And yet... you keep coming back." He watches Jensen shudder slightly at his words. He wants more of that.

"I like a challenge."

"So maybe that's why you're still alive."

The soft strokes of Jensen’s hands under Jared’s shirt are comforting, like nothing he’s ever desired before. There’s an intimacy to it he’s never felt with anyone else, and he’s fucked people as they lay bleeding, the light dimming in their eyes. This is different. He wishes he knew why. 

“That’s all you’re gonna give me?”

“For now.” And then he kisses Jensen, distracts him with the gentle scrape of nails over ribs, moves from Jensen’s mouth down his neck, licking and sucking, until he reaches Jensen’s shoulder. The bite is softer than usual, but Jared’s going to make damn sure there’s a bruise, sucking the hurt flesh into his mouth and holding it there, not breathing for a good 10 seconds, tasting Jensen, feeling the little tremors of arousal running between them as Jensen quivers under his teeth and tongue. When he finally lets Jensen go, Jared finds himself simultaneously wishing they could stay like this forever and wondering when he became a giant-sized sap.

He’s dragged out of his musings when Jensen abruptly pulls away and sits up, hands splayed over Jared’s chest. He’s not pinning him, but the message is clear.

“If you’re not gonna give me a clue, what you gonna give me instead?”

Jared thinks about it. This is definitely new territory, but that’s not to say he doesn’t want to explore. 

After a while, he says “It depends, I guess, on what you want.” 

Jensen’s eyes are predatory. It’s the first time Jared has ever felt in awe of him, of almost anyone, even slightly. The thought is not as unsettling as it used to be. But maybe that’s just because it’s Jensen. The times he hasn’t been in complete control of his sexual encounters are few and far between, but every so often...

“I want to mark you. Cut you. The way you do to me.”

Jared shakes his head. Gets a pout in return.

“That doesn’t work for me.” he says gently.

“You shouldn’t dish out what you can’t take.” Jensen’s playful on the surface, but there’s disappointment there too, mingled with the threat of repercussions.

“You know you love it.”

“Even if I didn’t, that wouldn’t stop you.” Jensen retorts.

Jared doesn’t outright deny it, but...

“If you really hated it, enough that you managed to break free… that would.”

“Are you for real? You’d just let me go.” He’s scratching his fingernails idly down Jared’s chest as he talks, like he’s tracing a pattern…

Jared brings his arms up, interlaces their fingers on both hands, twists his hips slightly, as if to buck Jensen off.

“Of course not, you’d have to… work for it. But if you won. You’d be free to go.”

Jensen is disbelieving. “Yeah like anyone’s ever managed that.”

“They have.”

“Bullshit.” Jensen snorts.

“Scout’s honour. It’s unusual. But, it happens.”

“I don’t believe you didn’t track them down after. Tell me.”

“You really want to hear about some other guy right now?”

“Anyone who beat your ass, sure.” Jensen’s playful again, but they’re getting further from the prospect of sex, and Jared’s not ok with that. Perhaps if he keeps it short…

“There have been those, who were suitably resourceful, who managed to get loose. To get out, and make sure I couldn’t follow then.”

“How come they didn’t kill you?”

“You’d have to ask them.”

“But you’re totally saying they could straight up have killed you.”

Jared shrugs. He knows that. “It’s a risk we both take. Maybe it didn’t get to the point where that was what they wanted. Maybe they turned the tables…” he shifts his hips under Jensen slightly, pressing his half-hard flesh into Jensen’s thigh. “Tied me down, fucked me until I didn’t want to hunt them afterwards…”

He grinds up against Jensen slow, feels him start to harden through his jeans. 

“You lying to me Princess?” Because you’re putting all sorts of thoughts inside a man’s head.”

Jared shakes his head, pulls on Jensen’s hands with is own, stretching his arms above him, so they’re resting on edge of the couch, as though Jensen’s holding him down.

“Wouldn’t do that to you Jenny.”

He’s bucking his hips up more urgently now, encouraging Jensen to get the hell on with things with every calculated thrust. He can feel Jensen’s grip tightening where their fingers are still intertwined. He’s not going to ask for this with words, but with every flutter of his eyelashes, each tentative bite of his lip, he’s urging Jensen on in a language they both understand intimately.

Which is just all part of the game.

Fighting your way out from underneath someone, especially when you’re on back, is always tricky, but because Jensen’s really not expecting it, it’s the work of less than a second for Jared to shift his weight sideways, knocking Jensen’s supporting knee away and allowing Jared to twist out from under him to land on his hands and knees on the floor next to the couch.

That’s the plan anyway. The sudden movement means Jensen lets go of his hands in an attempt to stop himself from falling, so Jared at least makes it to the floor, but he has rather more of Jensen on his back than is ideal. A knee in the small of his back that suddenly has almost Jensen’s entire weight resting on it nearly sends him sprawling flat, so he starts crawling away in order to make space for him to stand up.

The pressure on his back lets up momentarily, but before Jared can make it to his feet, he’s knocked flat to the floor as Jensen makes a flying tackle from the couch. His forehead bounces off the wooden floorboards as he lands. It’s not enough to knock him out, but it does leave him slightly dazed, which means he doesn’t immediately notice the hand across his throat, thumb and forefinger sliding into the collar of his shirt and pulling tight, Jensen’s wrist bones sawing into his windpipe, as his other arm presses against the side of Jared’s neck forcing him into the choke.

It’s a bitch to apply this technique on a victim who’s face down on the floor, the angle’s all wrong, but Jared can feel the solid weight of Jensen across his shoulders, against the back of his skull, can feel the hard line of Jensen’s prick in his jeans as he grinds Jared’s face into the floor, forces the front of Jared’s neck into his wrist.

He’s not getting out of this one. And he really, really doesn’t want to.

That’s my boy Jen, he thinks, as he passes out.

~~~

When he comes to, he’s face down on a bed, spread eagled, and he can’t move. Jensen’s sheets still smell faintly of soap. There’s an overlay of sweat and cologne that Jared recognises from the man himself and the familiar scent helps Jared keep a leash on his temper as he struggles in his ropes. Okay, so he’s not long ago described a pretty similar scenario to Jensen, but being tied up? Not really his thing, so it’ll take a while for him to acclimatise to his new situation. He registers the soft press of a towel underneath his abdomen. He shifts slightly and realises it spans the area roughly between his shoulders and mid thighs. Interesting. This could get messy then.

“Easy there, Princess.”

Jensen’s somewhere in the room behind him. Craning his neck, Jared can just about make him out in an armchair in the far corner of the room.

“Let me go.”

“Not a chance. I already know you fight dirty.” Jensen’s chuckling as he stands up.

“Let me go, or I’ll kill you.” It’s not a threat, it’s a statement.

Jared hears the floorboards creak as Jensen walks over to the bed and squats down so they’re face to face.”

“That tune’s getting old. You’ve had more than a score of chances. Now it’s my turn.”

“What are you gonna do?” Jared’s been testing the restraints while they’ve been talking. There’s almost no give. He’s not getting out of this without Jensen letting him up. He’s still angry, but not scared, and he’s trying to will his muscles to relax, to let them sink into the ropes. He’s aiming for acceptance but he’s not there yet.

“Nothing you won’t enjoy.”

Jensen stands up and then Jared feels the mattress dip as Jensen sits on the bed beside him. A second later, Jensen’s fingernails scrap gently over his vertebrae as he trails one hand down Jared’s spine. When he reaches Jared’s ass, he grabs one cheek in his hand, giving it a slow squeeze.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.” Jensen’s voice is heavy, reverent.

Jared doesn’t ask why he never mentioned it. He knows why.

Now Jensen’s hand is trailing through his hair, pulling it back gently from his face. No one’s ever touched him so tenderly before, the little prickles of sensation across his scalp are making it easier for Jared to want what’s happening to him and he has to resist the urge to lean into the touch of Jensen’s fingers. He already has his eyes shut when the blindfold slips over them.

“What the –?” he starts, but Jensen shushes him.

“It’ll feel better this way. Trust me.”

There’s that word again. If Jensen trusts him so much, maybe, maybe, he can return the courtesy. Today’s already been full of surprises. Finding out he trusts Jensen as much as Jensen trusts him would really top the whole thing off.

“Whatever happens, try to keep as still as possible.”

“Is that an order?” Jared snarks back. He can almost feel the bed shift as Jensen shrugs.

“If it helps to think of it like that.” 

Jared’s spent hours on stake outs, barely moving a muscle. Of course, he wasn’t naked and restrained at the time, but how hard can it be?

He re-evaluates this assumption when the first drops of wax hit his skin.

But Jensen starts with an ice cube. The chill makes Jared shiver rather than jerk, and it’s immediately followed by the warm sweep of Jensen’s tongue as he laps up the water it leaves behind. He alternates between ice and tongue, short and long strokes over Jared’s back and buttocks, moving from point to point, never picking up in the same place where he left off. Jared can already feel his cock starting to harden underneath him, tries, abortively to rut into the mattress, but he doesn’t have enough slack to really achieve anything. And Jensen swats him on the ass mere seconds after he starts.

“Stop that.”

“Can’t make me.”

He can feel it as Jensen stands up, but blindfolded as he is, it’s still a shock when Jensen whispers just millimetres from his ear, “If you come before that dick is inside me, I will leave you face down, in your own mess, all night. Don’t think I won’t do it.”

Jared stills. He can’t see Jensen’s face, but he can tell from the tone that’s he’s not playing.

“Better, you’re learning.”

Jared loses himself in Jensen’s ministrations, doesn’t know how long it’s been before Jensen switches from the ice to wax, just, suddenly, it’s different. The ice was cold, but Jensen never held it in one place long enough for it to really burn. The wax is a few bright milliseconds of pain in the small of his back that quickly fades to a warm ache. Jared tries to struggle when the first few drops land, even though he already knows he can’t really move.

“I told you to keep still.”

“That hurt.”

“But it hurt good, right?”

Behind his blindfold, Jared thinks about it. “Do it again.”

The wax falls once more, hotter this time, on his left shoulder blade and Jared hisses like a scalded cat. Hears Jensen‘s soft laugh in response above him.

The next drops land only a second later, overlapping with the last ones, the temperature about the same. They give him the double sensation of the new burn, and a muted, but building heat under his skin where the wax is starting to form a thicker layer.

He doesn’t wince this time, but a soft moan escapes him as the pain of the burn flares, dims, doesn’t quite dissipate.

“That’s it Princess, just relax into it.”

Jensen lets some more wax fall onto the small of his back and Jared would arch up into it, try to lean into the pain just a little to take out the sting, but he’s tied down too tightly for that. He breathes out in a long, slow gasp, muscles flexing in his bonds.

“Wish you could see yourself, you’re so pretty when you’re angry.”

“Shut the hell uh-up.”

Another groan escapes him mid-sentence as Jensen drops a trickle of wax up his spine. Jared shudders.

“You. can’t. make. me.”

Jensen pauses carefully after every word, emphasising each one with a new spill of wax, over Jared’s ribs, splashes on his ass, his right shoulder, and then, right when he’s not expecting it, an ice cube on the back of his neck that leaves him quivering all over. It isn’t until the ice melts a little, sending rivulets running down both sides of his neck that he realises that it’s water and not wax.

He loves it, hates it. Wants to fuck Jensen, but if he could be free right this instant, there’s a good chance he’d try to kill him. His skin feels like it’s melting and reforming as Jensen pours more wax down onto him, some on bare skin, some on flesh already covered, slowly building up a carapace to hold in the heat.

And pressed up between his body and the bed, Jared can feel his dick getting ever harder. He’s a long way from coming, but despite the building fury inside, maybe even because of it, he is so, so turned on.

That feeling doesn’t go away, even when he feels the wax land and trickle down between his ass cheeks.

It’s the sharpest pain yet, but not unbearable. He can just really feel it this time, more than all the other times. It burns away the last of his resistance and he sags into his ropes.  
His voice is rough, throat dry as a desert, as he rasps out “You learn that from Misha?”

He’s dreading the answer, hates that’s he’s asking at all, but he has to know. The idea of Jensen doing anything like this with anyone else, especially Misha Collins, is more than he bear. At least behind the blindfold, Jensen won’t be able to see how angry the thought makes him. How vulnerable.

“No. This I learned all by my kinky self.”

Jensen’s answer relaxes him even further and he sinks a little bit deeper into acceptance. Normally his brain never shuts up, won’t ever let him cede this much to control to anyone, but here and now he has no choice. He can’t see, he’s caught, can’t move, between arousal and just floating away, the gentle warmth of the growing wax layers seeping into his muscles taking him out of himself, the sharp pain of hot wax on exposed skin keeping him tethered, and the occasional, confusing flare of the ice sending little flickers of lust straight to his dick.

He doesn’t know how long it takes, he’s dimly aware there’s a method to the way Jensen’s coating him, as his back and buttocks are gradually covered. He’s a sleepy aroused puddle of a man, just managing to shift infinitesimal distances against the sheets to get enough friction to maintain his hard on, not nearly enough to come, when he realises Jensen’s stopped, his lips hovering close to Jared’s ear.

“Wish you could see it Jared.”

Jensen almost never calls him Jared. Princess mostly. Sometimes Sir when they’re at Jared’s place, though he’s just as likely to address him as Bitch during those sessions.

“Shouldna us’da blin’fol’ then.”

“You’re so beautiful like this, covered in so many colours.”

“Y’ c’d t’k a piksher?” he manages to mumble.

“It wouldn’t do it justice.”

Jared doesn’t mind. Whatever it looks like, it feels fucking amazing.

“I’m not going to cut you,” Jensen’s saying, “But I need the knife to help me get it off you.”

Jared nods dopily. He really doesn’t care by this point. Jensen so obviously knows what he’s doing that Jared is fully on board for whatever happens next.

He feels Jensen’s fingers against the skin of his ribs, feels him pull down, stretching it, registers the tip of the knife, but is not really sure what it’s doing until he feels the chill of the air on a patch of skin a little way above his left buttock. A section of his wax shell is gone and the contrast in temperature between that and the rest of him under the wax sets him shuddering all over again.

“Easy Jared easy. I need you to hold still.”

He does his best and the next thing he feels has to be the knife, a soft scrape over his exposed skin, removing the last of the wax there. Jensen works methodically, stretching the skin, inserting the knife tip between flesh and wax to lever it up in rough-shaped plates that flake up off Jared’s skin, taking all remnants of conscious thought with them. He is all sensation, relishing the gentle kiss of the knife as it comes back to sweep off anything that’s left behind. Jensen works up his left side, then down his right, before turning his attention to the spine and the skin either side of it.

As the wax peels off, Jared surfaces, surging inexorably from relaxed to desperate, little moans escaping him with each scrape of the blade. Jensen tries to gentle him, but Jared can hear his desire in the rasp of his voice. They’re both getting increasingly impatient and Jensen’s losing control of himself almost as much as Jared already has.

At long, long last all the wax is gone and as the air hits his now fully exposed skin, Jared knows he can’t last much longer.

“’M gonna come Jen, gonna come… if you don’t… I can’t… wait. Please. Don’t want to… without you…”

“If I untie you, you gonna stay where I put you?”

Jared nods uncontrollably. Earlier, he would’ve had tried to tear Jensen apart, now he just wants to feel him around every inch of his dick.

It’s less than two minutes, but it feels like eternity before his ropes are untied. He can feel Jensen massaging his feet and ankles and he vaguely attempts the same thing with his arms, but he’s not missing sensation anywhere and he turns over right away, nearly kicking Jensen somewhere crucial in his haste if the other’s man’s pained groan is anything to go by.

“Fucking come on Jenny.”

Jared pauses for a second, lying on his back, but propped up a little on his elbows, eyes still shut behind the blindfold but his head is turned towards where he thinks Jensen is. He’s been sensing rather than seeing him all this time and he’s worried if he sees him now, he’ll shoot his load before they even get to the good part.

When he feels Jensen’s hands at his temples, making to push the cloth up off his eyes, he grabs them and pushes them away. “Not yet, just fucking fuck me.”

There’s a little huff of laughter from Jensen, and then a few seconds later, Jared feels a condom unrolling down his shaft, followed by the slow, firm slide of Jensen’s lubed hand. Jared’s suddenly aware he’s fisting the towel underneath him in both hands and then Jensen’s on him, barely open, spearing himself inch by glorious inch on Jared’s dick and it’s all he can do to hold still, to give the other man time to adjust to the girth of it. Once Jared’s fully sheathed in Jensen, they both start to move. And suddenly, the entirety of Jared’s back is on fire. Every square inch of skin rubbing against the towel lets him know it’s aware of what’s going on and loving every second of it. The friction almost hurts, but the way his skin tingles sets off sympathetic sensations up the back of his neck and all over his scalp. If it wasn’t held down by the blindfold, every hair really would be standing on end.

He can hear Jensen above him, can imagine how glorious he looks as he rides Jared’s dick, he really was made for this. It’s not their first time in this position, but normally Jensen’s restrained in some way, or Jared’s directing him. Right now, Jared’s fully in his own skin, feeling everything so much more intensely than he ever has before. He’s so far gone, it’s all he can do to not to break rhythm. He lets Jensen lead, feels him rock down on him again and again in a beautiful clench that never fully lets go.

“So close Jared, been waiting for this all night. Got to make you look so pretty… loved every… second… Never thought…you’d… let me…”

Jensen’s breath is coming in short gasps and groans, little exclamations he lets out each time he thrusts down onto Jared and he sounds so close, so broken with pleasure, Jared can feel the wave of his own orgasm start to build inside him, surging through him as Jensen comes apart above him. 

And then he feels it, the warm drops of Jensen’s release landing on his skin.

Jared rips off the blindfold, stares deep into Jensen’s eyes, and comes.

~~~

Later, he’s somewhere between awake and asleep, Jensen as the marginally smaller spoon, jetpacking him from behind, careful of his still sensitive back but nuzzling into his neck, air moving gently over Jared’s skin as Jensen steadily inhales and exhales.

And that’s how he almost feels, rather than hears Jensen whisper, “What you told me earlier Jared, about letting people go… that felt like a rule. So… thank you.”

He doesn’t remember it when he wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the wax play: this is not something I've ever done myself, nor have I read (m)any fics that contain it. I've attempted to do research, but please do not use anything written here as a guide, if wanting to try this yourself. While various sites I read were not entirely unanimous over whether using coloured candles was safe or not, for example, everything I read agreed on this: if restraining someone while doing wax play, use restraints that are easy to release. Ropes are not recommended. But J2 have a pretty casual disregard for life, their own and other people's, so they are not following best practice. If you feel I've depicted anything too dangerous or jarringly inaccurately without appropriate caveats, please let me know. As ever, if you made it this far, thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh what a tangled web gangsters weave, when first they practice to deceive...

"Let's talk about Misha Collins."

"I thought you didn't want to know about any of that."

"I've changed my mind."

"Pellegrino says that's on a need to know basis. And you don't need to know."

"You're a damned liar Padalecki."

There's no heat in the words, and Jared wonders what gave him away. But he’s always liked to play with people. Why stop now?  
  
He turns in the swivel chair he's occupying to face Sheppard, pulls a paring knife from a sheath on his ankle, starts tossing it carelessly from hand to hand. A deliberate threat display. Sheppard doesn't flinch, he just looks faintly bored. Jared’s intrigued.  
  
"When did you get so interesting?"  
  
"When you started looking beyond the accent and the beard." That makes Jared laugh, it’s a fair point.  
  
"So what exactly do you want to know?"

~~~

Sam’s not sure how she was allowed out on this detail _without_ sleeping with her boss. Beaver was none too happy with her for opening the envelope.

By the time Jeff had arrived back at the office to learn the news, the blazing row was in full swing.

“You wanted dirt on Pellegrino! This guy says he can give us that! There was nothing in that letter that could’ve hurt me!”

"Agent, you could have died!"

"It was just a piece of paper Jim."

"Don't you 'just Jim' me. He could've put ricin in there, anthrax or the devil knows what."

"But he _didn't._ "

"There was no way, let me repeat myself, NO WAY you could definitely, absolutely, 100 per cent, KNOW THAT. I know you miss Charles, hell, we all do, but I never thought I’d see you so far gone as to risk your own goddamn neck like that. I taught you better, you know better, and Charles _knew better_.”

She catches the tremor in his voice then. This is not just about protocol. She feels like an idiot.

“Boss, I…” Fuck it. “ _Jim_. I’m sorry. It’s not like that. I’m not trying to get myself hurt.”

Beaver’s not shouting anymore but she thinks she catches, “Could’ve fooled me,” from somewhere behind the beard.

“I told you, they obviously wanted to make contact. If they’d had any ill intent, they’d’ve stuck around to watch my head explode. No hitman worth their salt doesn’t confirm a kill.”

“In the name of all that is holy Samantha, can we please stop talking about you dying!”

Oops. “Anything you say, sir.”

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to achieve with this out-of-the-blue obedience Sam, you know I can’t let you go talk to him, whoever he is. You’re way too close to this.”

She does know this, but she was really, really hoping he wouldn’t see it like that.

"Boss, please! You have to trust me, I-"

"Sir, if I might interject?"  
  
She and Jeff started speaking at the same time and Sam is so surprised, she stops mid rant. She likes Jeff now, a lot more than she did, but she still doesn't trust him. She shuts up more out of shock than anything else. Beaver motions for Jeff to continue.  
  
"Agent Ferris didn't follow protocol, we all know that. But if you don't let her follow this up, how good are the odds that she won't follow protocol again?"  
  
"She does that, I'll suspend her damn ass."  
  
"And that'll stop her?"  
  
Beaver lets out a slow breath, Sam can see the exasperated fondness in his expression as he looks at her.  
  
"Unfortunately, I doubt it."  
  
"So send her to the meet. With me. They sent this note to her, specifically. You know we'll build more trust if she's there. And I'll be there to make sure nothing... untoward occurs."  
  
Sam can see Beaver doesn't like it, and to be honest, she has plenty of reasons to suspect Jeff is not entirely on the level with this suggestion, but the point about her making first contact is a good one. Whoever this guy is, he responded to _her_.  
  
So here they are, her and Jeff in an unmarked car at the pre-arranged location, no recording devices, but when they made contact to set up the meet, there was no mention off not bringing any guns. Not that having her gun is making Sam feel any safer. Yeah, she’s a fed, years on the job, and still this guy managed to saunter up to her car in broad daylight and leave her a personal message on the windshield. She’s been in tough situations sure, but usually when she was at least half-expecting it. Never before when she’s been in civvies.

They say as law enforcement you’re always on duty, even when your shift ends. But at least there _is_ a nominal end to the working day. Whereas those pesky criminals are criminals the whole damn time. She’s angry, nervous and excited all at once. Feels like a cornered cat surrounded by a pack of hounds, even with Jeff’s steadying presence in the front seat. Her driver for the day. He’s already told her not get any ideas about this becoming a permanent set up.

“He’s late.”

“No, we’re early,” Jeff murmurs back.

“Stop trying to soothe me.”

“Stop needing it.”

Sam barks out a laugh. “Asshole.”

“Certified.” He grins at her in the rear-view mirror. And she relaxes. Just a little, but it’s enough.

Their wannabe informant is expecting two people. That was one of their pre-conditions for a no-wires set up. He’d agreed to it almost immediately in their exchange of encrypted e-mails. Sam had considered him either supremely confident in his abilities or stupid. It’s not much to go on, but something about his posture and gait as he’d walked away from her that first day makes Sam think it’s the former rather than the latter.

She doesn’t get a chance for a second assessment on this occasion, because when someone does show for their meet, it’s not an impossibly tall guy, but a woman. Average height, slight of build, but wiry, with dark auburn hair. 

~~~  
  
Jared’s finding that he enjoys talking to Sheppard. The man is quick and to the point.

"What's Pellegrino’s beef with Collins?"  
  
"Honestly? I think the water balloon stunt tipped him over the edge."  
  
Sheppard barks out a laugh. "But that was bloody hilarious."

In retrospect, Jared has come around to that point of view, but he’ll never tell anyone that. “Would you still be laughing if it had been full of acid?”

Sheppard shrugs. “Probably. Pellegrino’s my employer, not my friend. Besides, can you see the headlines? ‘City’s biggest crime boss taken out in rogue water balloon attack. Police baffled.’”  
  
Jared tries to stay on topic. "It was a security nightmare."  
  
"That's what he pays you for."  
  
"And I earn my salary. What are you here for?"  
  
Sheppard smiles and suddenly, Jared glimpses the predator beneath the expensive suit. "I earn your salary."

~~~

“A fucking business suit, she’s in a fucking business suit!” Sam is practically spitting tacks.

Jeff looks at the woman approaching the car. There’s no way she’s anything near six feet tall.

“I take it this is not the person who left an envelope that could have, but didn’t, contain anthrax under your windshield wiper?”

“No, it fucking isn’t!”

“Sam, wait...!”

But Agent Ferris has already left the vehicle.

Jeff scrambles to do the same but hangs back so he can keep a clear view of whatever’s going to play out here.

The woman approaching them doesn’t seem the least bit ruffled. She is indeed wearing a business suit consisting of a tailor-made jacket and slacks. They’re grey, with narrowly-spaced black pinstripes. A pale pink shirt and flat lace-ups made of black leather complete the ensemble. She’s holding an expensive-looking briefcase and Jeff knows they’re looking at a professional. A civilian. She looks like she could be a banker, or a lawyer or a real estate agent or something.

The woman comes to a halt when Sam gets within spitting distance of her, and just stands and waits, holding herself straight, but not looking particularly tense.

Sam likewise comes to a stop, plants her feed in a wide stance and lets her jacket fall open to reveal her gun. She’s not quite flaunting it, but she needs this stranger to know she means business.

Speaking of which, best get down to it. “Who the hell are you?”

The red-headed woman holds out a hand, “Felicia Day, partner at Day and Tran Associates. Here to meet Agents Ferris and Morgan.”

Sam doesn’t step forward to shake hands. “And what the hell are you doing here?”

“I am here to convey messages on behalf of my client.”

“You’re a fucking lawyer. He sent his fucking lawyer!” This last is shouted back over her shoulder towards Jeff.

Ms Day replies gently, “Just ‘lawyer’ is fine.”

“Sending you was not part of our arrangement.”

“My client is aware. He sends his deepest apologies, but he had to be unavoidably elsewhere today at short notice.”

“How fucking convenient.”

“I assure you Agent Ferris, it most definitely was not.”

“What’s he doing? Robbing a bank?”

“I assure you, my client is not a criminal.”

“If he works for Misha Collins and Mark Pellegrino like he says he does, then he is most definitely a criminal.”

“He has no criminal record.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Whatever bullshit excuse you need to keep taking his money lady, I didn’t come here to argue semantics. But the main reason I’m here _isn’t_ here, so unless you have a good reason for me to stay, beyond delivering your sick note, let’s stop wasting everyone’s time.”

“Of course. May I?” Sam realises Ms Day is gesturing towards the car with the briefcase.

Sam nods her acceptance and the two women walk back towards where Jeff is waiting. Once there, Ms Day places the briefcase on the bonnet, puts in the combinations for the locks holding the catches closed, then flips the case open.

All that’s inside is an A4 manila envelope.

“This is for you,” she says, handing it over.

Sam takes it, it doesn’t feel like it contains much.

“What’s inside?”

“Information.”

“Have you read it?”

“I was instructed not to.”

Sam sighs her obvious disbelief.

“I assure you, Agent Ferris, I have no knowledge of what this envelope contains, I was merely told to deliver it.”

“You can assure me all you like, doesn’t mean I believe a word of it.”

Ms Day doesn’t respond, so Sam decides to fill the silence, by venting her spleen.

“Tell me, is your mama proud of you? Fancy law degree that cost the earth and look where it gets you. Errand girl for some lowlife scum.”

It’s at this point Jeff cuts in.

“What my partner means to say is that given what’s at stake here, we’re somewhat surprised not to be speaking to him in person. He was very specific about who he wanted to talk to and we were expecting the same level of communication from him. Is that a message you could convey back to him for future reference?”

“But of course,” Ms Day smiles. “Do you have any further questions?”

“Can you tell us why he couldn’t make it today?” Jeff asks.

“Would that I could, but I wasn’t given precise details. And I was instructed not to.”

Jeff hears Sam start to mumble something along the lines of, “Were you instructed to be a raging bitch about it too?” and elbows her sharply in the ribs.

“Can you guarantee that if we set up another meeting, your client will be present in person?” Jeff presses her.

The smile again. It really is charming. “I will of course do my utmost to impress upon him that it would be in his best interests to attend, but I can’t predict the future.”

“We understand.” Jeff winces slightly, when Sam elbows him back in the ribs. “Thank you, Ms Day.”

“If that’s all, I’ll be off. Agents.” She holds out her hand. Jeff shakes it. Ms Day just smiles again when Sam gives her a lazy wave instead and turns away. They wait until her footsteps have died away before getting back in the car.

“She was laughing at us.” Sam says, as soon as the vehicle’s doors have _thunked_ closed.

“Really? I didn’t notice,” Jeff replies. “Still, you didn’t have to be quite so rude.”

Sam waves the envelope. “This sonofabitch knows whichever sonofabitch it was that killed Charles, I ain’t gonna be polite. He stalks me, then doesn’t even have the decency to show up and just sends his pet lawyer instead? Fucking asshole.”

Jeff rolls his eyes, but doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he nods towards the envelope.

“You going to open that or what?”

~~~

"Tell me why I should I trust you." Now Jared's using his paring knife to delicately scrape the dirt out from beneath his nails, dropping little clumps of dead skin and grime fastidiously into the waste basket.  
  
"I'm an easy man to read Padalecki. My motivation is simple. I want to make money. Lots of money.”  
  
"So be a stockbroker."  
  
"Oh I was. I was good at it."  
  
"Then what happened?"  
  
"I'm a knowledge man, I like to know things. Most ‘legitimate financiers’ are halfway to being crooks anyway…”

Jared’s briefly distracted by the fact that here is another person who can drop air quotes into a spoken sentence without doing the actual gesture. Truly, a man he can work with.

Sheppard is still talking, so he keeps listening, “…and money flows in all sorts of mysterious ways. The people who play by the rules lose too much of it. I wanted to see where it went when it leached away."  
  
"And what did you find?"  
  
"That I was right."  
  
It's a circular answer. But he'll let it pass for now. 

~~~

 _Information_ Ms Day had said. But when she rips the envelope open and slides out the sheets of paper it contains for inspection, Sam is not really sure what she’s looking at.

There’s no memory stick, just sheets of paper. Smart. Paper is hard to trace and easy to destroy, though she reckons that’s more for his benefit than theirs.

It also appears to be in code. There are words, forming sentences, but nothing that makes actual sense. _The significant owl hoots in the night._ What the fuck does that mean?

She passes the documents over to Jeff, not saying anything, just to see what he makes of it, but a few moments later it’s obvious he’s as stumped as she is.

“Best get this to a code nerd,” he says.

Sam nods. “You wanna hear my theory? This is all just a pile of cryptic bullshit that doesn’t mean a thing. He’s yanking our chains. At best, it’s because that’s how he gets his kicks. At worst, it’s to keep us distracted while Pellegrino and Collins continue their business merger.”

“This is an awful lot of effort to go to for something you don’t mean. Have some patience Sam.”

“The best distraction is an elaborate one. This is the only possible lead we might have on who killed Charles… I can’t let these fuckers mess us around. I just can’t. I mean, do _you_ trust him?” she asks suddenly, “You were making awful nice with that fancy lawyer.”

Jeff just _looks_ at her before answering. “Man’s a hired killer. Who sent a proxy to meet with us. Of course I don’t trust him.”

“Then why do you think he’s doing this?”

He shrugs. “For shits and giggles? Revenge? Religion? I don’t know and right now, I don’t care. All I know is that we have a man with deep connections to Collins _and_ Pellegrino, and if we play this right, he can help us take both of them down. We have to focus on that. If he’s bullshitting us, we’ll find out soon enough. And assuming Ms Day is who she says she is, we have a connection to him. We can apply the thumbscrews to her if this doesn’t pan out. Do I trust him? Not as far as I could throw a cathedral, but first, let’s see if this…” he waves the envelope, “… gives us any useable intel and then see what happens.” 

~~~

"We need to have a little talk."  
  
"About what?" Jared doesn’t look up from his desk, where’s he’s deep in planning how they might best take down Boecher. None of the scenarios look promising  
  
"About why you're so unwilling to give me what I want."  
  
Jared exhales slowly, deliberately, like he's talking to a five-year-old.  
  
"How many times are we going to have this conversation?"  
  
"As many as it takes to make you change your mind."

“That’s not going to happen.”

Mark sidles into Jared’s field of vision, almost reclining against the desk, lower leg brushing against Jared’s calf. It’s incredibly annoying.

Jared looks up at this employer. “I have work to do, now’s not a good time.”

“Oh Jay, Jay, Jay. There’s never a good time for this. For us.” Pellegrino sounds so sorrowful and Jared doesn’t understand. He hasn’t his temper for a long time, but his boss’s consistent failure to behave like an adult is starting to take its toll.

“And there never will be.” Jared doesn’t move away, he’s not going to give the other man the satisfaction. But he does manage to act like Pellegrino isn’t even there. Like he can’t feel the subtle pressure of the man’s leg against his. As if he’s impervious to the line Mark’s neck makes as he tilts his head back. He’s always found it hard to say no to such blatant offers in the past, but the mere fact of who is making this offer is what makes it so easy to resist.

It’s not even that Jared’s a one-man-and-one-man-only kind of guy. _Or at least_ _not until recently_ a part of his brain whispers, flashing up wax-covered memories of himself helpless under Jensen’s hands, the two of them rutting against each other in the dirt of Jensen’s backyard. It’s just that he’s decided. Not with this man. Not ever.

“I think you’ll make time.” Pellegrino’s voice is quiet, flirtatious tone gone. Jared doesn’t immediately respond, just looks at the files on his desk. By now, this is more to give him something else to look at than it is about getting any meaningful work done.

His boss apparently doesn’t like being ignored, because the next thing Jared feels is a hand on his chin, two fingertips attempting to guide his face to look up at his employer.

In less than two seconds, Jared’s gripping the hand that’s touching his face, jerking his chair back as he stands up, twisting the arm the hand is attached to and locking the wrist, pressing the fingers back towards Pellegrino’s shoulder.

It takes two seconds more before he realises the man is laughing, not trying to fight him.

“That’s what I’m talking about Jay, finally. You get what you always wanted.”

Jared grits out, “I don’t want this. I. don’t. want. you.” He exerts pressure on Pellegrino’s trapped hand to emphasise the point. He’s not gentle. Jared knows this lock can hurt like hell, has had it used on him more than a few times in training and in the field, but Pellegrino just stands there, absorbing it without flinching. Fucking masochist. Fucking double-jointed masochist apparently.

“Maybe not right now Jay, but I want you. And I get what I want. Unless _you_ want anything to happen to that pretty piece of blond ass that you and Collins both seem to be so fond of.”

Jared’s stance doesn’t change, he does absolutely nothing to give himself away, he’s sure of it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This says otherwise.”

Pellegrino’s holding out a mobile phone in his other hand, on the arm Jared hasn’t incapacitated. The device is already powered up, video playback selected. All of Jared’s attention suddenly focuses on the circular “play” button in the centre of the screen.

Part of him wants to just take the phone and smash it beneath his heel. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. But, as it with anything digital, that strategy will only work for as long as it takes Pellegrino to get another phone. Whatever he has, if he has anything, this won’t be the only copy. And Jared’s coming to a better, sudden, and somewhat unwelcome understanding of the man in front of him. Continued refusal to watch is unlikely to be successful. Playing along for now will buy him some time at least and show him exactly what he’s up against.

He lets go of Pellegrino’s arm and takes the phone. The other man takes advantage of being released to pull up a chair opposite Jared’s desk. He doesn’t sit, but leans back slightly, resting against the chairback so he can watch, as Jared hits play.

The video starts with him and Jensen, at Jensen’s house, in the backyard. The vantage point is high, taken by someone up in the trees that surround the property. The footage skips forward every so often, but there’s enough to show Jared that whoever filmed them was there for the whole thing. The little video figures of him and Jensen are moving at double speed, in a mocking mimicry of the little clip reel his own brain was playing him just moments before. Rage is already quietly sparking through him, like barely contained electricity.

“Edited highlights,” Pellegrino’s voice cuts into his thoughts. “The sound quality on the raw footage is a bit dodgy, but you get the gist of what you’re saying easily enough.”

“Shut up.” Jared’s not angry, he’s incensed. He hides it well.

Then the perspective changes slightly. The picture quality is not as good, it’s filmed from further away, obviously not from inside the bounds of the property, whoever they were they hadn’t risked that, but they hadn’t needed to. Not when the lights in Jensen’s bedroom were on and the curtains wide open. He can’t really tell it’s himself on the bed but given that earlier clips show him walking into the house, to anyone else viewing the footage, the inference is obvious.

“Never really pegged you as the lie back and take it sort, Jay. What else you been hiding from me?” 

Pellegrino’s aiming for coy and missing, a combination of interrogation and flirting that’s particularly dangerous just now. Jared knows his exterior is still giving nothing away, but inside his mind is on fire. No one gets to see him and Jensen in the privacy of these moments and live. No one. Once he’s dealt with Pellegrino, he’s tracking down whoever he hired and killing them too. Probably with a stolen nuke, just to really drive home the point.

“How’d you get this?” For someone who currently wants to rip the man’s head from his body, Jared thinks he’s doing a remarkably good job of maintaining composure. He still needs more information, and he’s only going to get that while his boss’s head remains on his shoulders.

“Who guards the guards, Jay? You kept turning me down. I needed to know why. I had you followed. Now I know why.”

“You stalked me? Wow.” He’s almost laughing at how desperate the other man is. And as it happens, now feels like exactly the right time to drop the phone on the floor and grind the screen into so much dust with the heel of his steel toecap.

“Hey!” Pellegrino does a reasonable job of sounding put out.

Jared just looks at him in response, one eyebrow raised. “I’m sure you have other phones.”

His boss shrugs. “You’re right, that one was purely for the purpose of showing you I mean business.”

Jared doesn’t answer.

“Come on Jay!” Pellegrino pushes himself off the chair, arms spread wide. “This is the part where you ask me ‘But what happens if I don’t do what you want?’ ‘Well Jared, I’m glad you asked me that…’” He’s even pretending to be Jared asking the question at this point, then swapping sides, having a mock dialogue with himself. This whole thing is a farce, but Jared’s not lifting a finger to help it play out. He’s thinking, watching, as Pellegrino moves across the floor in front of him. Grandstanding. But apparently, he loves an audience even more than he loves being a puppet master.

“Fine, fine. You talked me into it. I’ll tell you what happens. You say no, Jensen dies. You try to run, Jensen dies. Jensen tries to run, Jensen dies. In all these scenarios, you get to watch, because I reckon that’s the least I can do, and then you die, probably. But the main take home from today for you is this: I don’t get what I want, Jensen dies.”

“You don’t have the resources. My guys are loyal to me.”

“Yours are, sure. But Collins’ men. Not so much.”

Tumblers are spinning in his head lightning quick. And now he’s starting to feel uneasy as well as enraged.

“ _You told Collins?_ ”

Pellegrino shrugs. “You got me, my bad. And I have to tell you, he was kinda pissed. He likes to share, but you didn’t ask Jay. You just took. Rude.”

 _I asked Jensen_ , Jared thinks. _The one who matters._ That bright sunny morning in Jared’s kitchen. _“Would you like to play a game?”_  
  
Out loud, he says, “But you hate Collins. You asked me take him down.”

“Yeah, and we’re still doing that, he just doesn’t know about it. He’s just useful, for now. And once he’s out the way, maybe you can see Jensen on the side sometimes, but until that’s done… you step out of line, Collins will stick his guys on you. Jensen steps out of line, I’ll send our team for him. I know I could never get them to hurt you, but hitman for a rival gang? No problem, especially when no one except the four of us knows about your little love story. So there you have it Jay. That’s what happens if you say no.”

The question is inevitable, it pains him to ask it, but Jared’s already making a long list of the ways his employer will suffer for this. The final humiliation now will just provide inspiration for the icing on the cake later.

“And what happens if I say yes?”

“Well now.” Pellegrino’s demeanour changes in a flash. He stops walking to and fro, coming to halt directly in front of Jared. He places his hands on Jared’s hips, and Jared offers no resistance as he’s backed gently towards the table.

He ends up leaning against it, the way Pellegrino had been earlier. His boss is in front of him now, nudging Jared’s legs far enough apart that he can stand between them and get all up in his space. Jared’s pulse throbs in the side of his neck with the barely suppressed urge to commit acts of unspeakable violence.

“You really want to kill me right now, don’t you?”

“Yes.” It seems pointless to deny it.

“But you can’t.”

“Not yet.”

Pellegrino laughs softly at him. “You might try it. But give it time, and I think you’ll get used to what we have here.”

“We don’t have _anything_.”

“We’ll work on it.” His hands are moving slowly, reverentially, making Jared’s T-shirt ride up the side of his torso.

“I can feel your frustration Jay, I know how angry you are and what you want to do with that.”

Suddenly, Pellegrino’s grabbing Jared’s hand and pressing it to his crotch. Jared can feel he’s hard as a rock.

Then, both of the other man’s hands are on the back of his neck pulling him forward for a kiss. He just stands there, lips not responding, letting his brain stew in the indignity of it, intensifying his anger, until it surges out of him. His hands come up through the circle of Pellegrino’s arms, wrapping around to break his hold on Jared’s head. The sound of the slap echoes around the room like a gunshot. Jared _wants_ to shoot the man for real, but _Jensen._ What’s between the two of them, it’s not love, but whatever it is, he’s not ready to let it go.

Pellegrino raises a hand slowly to his cheek. Even in the dimly lit room, Jared can see the blood rising to the surface. The reddened skin invites him closer, the way it always does. He fights the urge to bury his teeth in the meat of the other man’s cheek.

His boss is smiling, eyes half-closed, savouring the sting of the slap, his fingers stroking over the skin where Jared struck him.

“If you say yes Jay, no… _when_ you say yes, then you get hurt me as much as I want.”

“And what about what I want?”

“Once you’ve warmed up to me, we’ll want the same thing, you’ll see.”

“How about I just kill you and take over?”

“Come on now Jay, we both know that’s not why you’re here. You like to hurt people, to kill people, sometimes in new and interesting ways. That’s what you do and you’re good at it. But you’re a man of limited vision. You don’t have the imagination to run the business. You kill me and try to manage things, it would be chaos within days. You know it, I know it. Then there’s Boecher. Sure, her beef is largely with me, but your guy killed her guy. Getting rid of me wouldn’t get her off your tail. And Collins hates you. Right now, I’m only involved in one mob scuffle, you’d be involved in two. And with no guarantee Jensen would make it out the other side. Collins is a weird artsy fucker, he’d probably send you his heart as a present or some shit. But work with me and we both get what we want.”

“You mean fuck you.”

Pellegrino shrugs expansively “In time, we can work up to that. I know this a big, bold step in our relationship. All I’m asking for to start with is a bit of your ultra-violence. And don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it. Look at you.”

_I don’t enjoy it with you._

Jared’s anger is all subterranean lava flows. Slow moving, invisible but inexorable. Stand in its path and obliteration is a certainty. Blowing his top now won’t solve anything, but he knows what he has to do.

He manages to keep the rage from his voice when he finally responds.

“You won’t enjoy it. I’ll make sure you don’t.”

The other man’s eyes are a clear crystal blue that Jared does his best to believe aren’t currently looking right through him.

“Wanna bet?”

This time, Jared punches him.

~~~

Sheppard asks “So what have the two of you cooked up regarding Boecher?”

“Nothing yet.”

“I’m not a mushroom Padalecki.”

“Excuse you?”

“You don’t get to keep me in the dark and feed me shit. The boss is already bollocks-deep in one gangland struggle, which is not great for business, at it goes, and if he’s about to wade into another, I need to know about it in order to keep the cash flowing. In order for you to keep on affording whatever fancy conditioner it is that keeps those locks of yours so smooth and flowing."

“Oh honey, you noticed.” Jared answers robotically. Because that joke isn’t so old it’s practically fossilised.

“Fine. Cheap shot. That doesn’t mean I don’t need to know what’s going on.”

Jared supposes he has a point. He still doesn’t really trust the money man, but if nothing else, recent events have shown that Sheppard tends to pick up on things people aren’t telling him. _Especially_ if they aren’t telling him on purpose. Much better to build a relationship and let him know just enough to stop him getting too curious.

He narrows his eyes, as if considering the decision carefully.

“We’re going to take out Boecher.”

“How? We don’t have the resources.”  
  
“That’s where Collins comes in.”  
  
“But the boss can’t stand him.”  
  
“Collins doesn’t know that. He thinks their friends. Or at least, professional business partners.”

Sheppard lets out a low whistle. “So we use our combined muscle to take out Boecher and then…”

Jared nods. “Infiltration. Followed by dismembering. I mean, dismantling.” He allows himself a humourless grin at the terrible joke, then watches, interested, as Sheppard visibly relaxes in front of him.

“Well thank Christ for that.”

Jared quirks an eyebrow at him in response, the question implicit.

“He was acting like such a lovestruck fool over you, I thought he’d taken complete leave of his senses. Fighting two other lots of mob at once would have been ridiculously complicated, not to mention prohibitively expensive.”

So Sheppard doesn’t know Pellegrino has gone back on his public declaration that he wouldn’t mix business with pleasure. And Jared’s not going to tell him. Let’s see if he can work it out for himself. If Jared keeps the bruises below the neckline, there aren’t too many other ways he could find out. It’s a shame, because, for reasons entirely outside his usual proclivities, Jared really likes hitting Mark in the face. Life is full of complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was slightly slower to update with this than I had hoped, given that I'd written about a third of the chapter when it was still tangled up with the previous one, but still. It's better than the six months or so gap between the last two chapters. Many thanks are due to [DeeMB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeeMB/profile) for her continued betaing and hand holding - for this and for life in general - and to [fitz_y](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/fitz_y/profile) for challenging me to word wars for the last two weeks and making sure I did 45mins of writing before work every day. They are the reason this chapter is finished.
> 
> As usual, thanks for reading! Comments and concrit always welcome :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is about sex, except sex. Sex is about control.

Jared's naked and he's jerking off. Their “little arrangement”, as Pellegrino insists on referring to it, is definitely not one he would have chosen, and the man’s demands are putting a serious dent in his time. But today, today it was different. Because he’d chosen it. And, against all expectations, it had been so. fucking. _good_.

_The feel of the scruff on Mark's nape. Scrabbling for a hold in the man's close-cropped hair. Nails catching mostly skin instead and digging in, in, in._

His grip on his own flesh is almost painfully tight. He's made a promise to himself, to Jensen, though he hasn’t been able to communicate this to Jensen. But whatever Mark forces Jared to do, he doesn't get to see him like this. Not ever.

_The little "oof" of expelled air he gets as he forces Mark against the wall, one arm twisted up behind his back, has Jared hardening in his pants in seconds. But this isn't about that. This is about control._

He'd started with just his hand and spit, but Jared really doesn’t get off on making things uncomfortable for himself. His groan sounds indecently loud even to him, as he takes a palmful of lube and really starts to work his dick.

_Mark tries to struggle, but that just means Jared yanking him back briefly, so he can slide his other arm around the man's neck, slip his thumb and forefinger into the collar of Mark's jacket and use the leverage that gives him to apply a choke. Not enough that he'll pass out, but enough to drive the point home. "You. don't. move. You. don't. speak." He punctuates each word with a shove, blanketing himself over Mark's back and forcing him bodily against the wall. Jared thinks he hears the other man groan. He doesn't care._

His interactions with Jensen aren’t usually this... simple. When he gets him back, not if, _when_ , Jared thinks he's going to take time to re-appreciate the basics. Kissing, rutting, the slow, careful, then chaotic work of driving a man into a frenzy with nothing but hands and tongue.

_Taking the knife from its holster, he slices through the seat of Mark’s trousers in seconds, cutting away a flap that reveals the man’s tight black briefs. “I’m going to kneel down,” he tells Mark. “My knife will be by your nuts the entire time. Don’t think I won’t take ‘em off if you don’t hold still.” On his knees now, Jared makes a single, clean cut through the back of the briefs, unwrapping the globes of Mark’s ass. There’s nothing holding the man in place except his own will now, and the fact that he doesn’t move thrills Jared’s every nerve. Even so, he runs the knifepoint slowly down Mark’s ass crack, pressing the flat of the blade into his left cheek, coming to a stop just behind his balls. He can see the fine tremors running through the flesh in front of him, hear the high, tight breaths coming from the man above. Running his free hand over the skin in front of him, Jared leans forward and bites down hard._

His own hand is all slip and glide, his dick quivering in response. He bites his lower lip, muscles heaving. His brain flicks between images. Himself, spread out and covered in wax, he's only got Jensen's description for what that looks like, but hearing the words, remembering the feeling, it drives him ever closer. Mark, pressed tight to the wall, his head thunking against the wood, as Jared pushes him there so he _stays_ goddamnit. And Jensen. Jensen. Lips fucked out from Jared's gun, rutting up against him in the dust of the back yard. Taking everything Jared's doling out and giving it back with interest.

_The sounds Mark makes will feature heavily in Jared’s fantasies for the foreseeable future. Choked-back cries of pain and arousal, almost as if he doesn’t want to admit what this does to him, body taut as he struggles not to move, all too aware of the knife pricking at his most delicate parts. Jared bites him again and again, peppering the pale flesh of his ass with dark purple marks, biting and holding, then sucking hard to leave bruises. He wants Mark to feel this for days._

It's too much and it's not enough. The remembrances of Jensen tease him with the other man's absence as much as they turn him on. The encounter in Mark’s office had left him hard and horny, but it doesn’t compare to anything he’s ever done with Jensen. He's been on the brink for what feels like hours (probably only five minutes), tormented by the memories of all he wants but can't have.

_Once he’s happy with the spread of bruises over Mark’s ass, Jared stands, keeping his knife pressed between Mark’s legs. He looks at his quarry. The man’s shuddering all over. It’s too bad he’s taken it so well, otherwise Jared would have the perfect excuse to kill him now. But by Jared’s usual rules, he’s earned his continued existence. And there are other considerations. Killing him will have to wait until Jensen’s safe. But instead… “Hands above your head. Cross your wrists,” he orders. The speed with which Mark complies almost takes Jared’s breath away. He sheathes his knife, then grips Mark’s wrists in one hand, shoving them together against the wall so the bones creak. Then, drawing his other hand back, he starts spanking him, hitting the fresh bruises covering his ass again and again, no pattern to the impacts. The palm of his hand starts to smart, but that must be nothing to what Mark’s feeling. Jared’s lost in the beating, not paying any attention to the other man, he only realises Mark’s coming when the man’s crossed arms jerk underneath his hand. Jared crowds in behind him then, reaches around to grasp Mark’s softening cock through the front of his ruined trousers and rub his release into the expensive fabric. Grinds against the tender and exposed skin of Mark’s ass at the same time. Jared’s fully hard himself by now, but he’ll take care of that later._

Finally, hand slick with lube and sweat, recalling Mark's humiliation pushes him over the edge. It's not the best orgasm of his life, but the delay, all the pent-up rage and frustration, give it a sharp, particular sting.

_“I’m going now. You stay as you are, where I put you, for at least five minutes. I’ll be checking the security feeds. If you don’t do it, I’ll know.”_

"That was for you Jenny," he declares to his empty bedroom. "Just for you." 

 

~~~

 

Jensen gets the first indication that his working relationship with Misha isn’t everything he thought it was over dinner. It’s a very nice dinner, he has nothing to complain about on that score, but he is, to put it mildly, less than happy with the idea that he can never see Jared again. For now. This could change, maybe, at some time in the future. Misha is annoyingly unspecific. But also disturbingly graphic about what’ll happen if he doesn’t play ball. Misha promises him it’ll take conceptual art to a whole new level.

“It’s just a business arrangement Jen, but you have to understand. We need to show we’re committed to this partnership. Pellegrino wants his man and he doesn’t want you in the way. You’re too much of a distraction.”

“And that’s what he told you, is it?”

“It’s one of the terms of our arrangement, yes. Keep you two apart. Terminal consequences for both of you if you don’t do as you’re told.”

Jensen feels hurt. “You’d really kill me over another guy? You’ve never cared before.”

Misha shakes his head, “No, no, no darling. _I_ wouldn’t kill you, Pellegrino would.”

“And you’d really kill Jared?

Misha huffs out a breath in response. “Probably. Business is business. It’d be a shame to destroy someone with legs that long. And all before you’ve ever persuaded him into nylons.”

Jensen can’t help it, he knows the tips of his ears are turning pink.

He gets a sly smile from Misha.

“Don’t forget, I know you Jenny, I know what you like.”

“And you’re sure you’re not just jealous? That agreeing you’ll kill Jared if Pellegrino tells you to, has nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the fact that we were keeping it a secret?”

Maybe he’s imagining it, but he’s almost certain he sees Misha’s eyes cloud over briefly, his facial muscles flickering into stillness to avoid showing any expression. It lasts less than a second, then Misha’s clasping both of Jensen’s hands in his own and turning the full beam of that deep blue gaze directly on him and it blocks out everything else.

“Jen, you know I don’t mind sharing, I just wish you’d felt comfortable enough to let me in.”

Jensen relaxes, somewhat. “Jared’s pretty, um…”

“Uptight?”

“Intense. I don’t think you’d like what he likes.”

“Well now I’m intrigued.”

“I… we…” And suddenly, Jensen finds that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not with Misha, not with anyone. Especially when _it_ is about to be taken away from him. Keeping their times together private keeps them special, until he’s hauled them out of this mess. Until then, he doesn’t want anything to spoil those memories.

“Maybe some other time.”

For a moment, he thinks Misha might be going to press him for details, but the other man just shrugs and sips his wine.

“Finish your steak Jenny. And be a good boy for me. Remember, what we talked about _will_ happen, if you don’t play along.”

 

~~~

 

Beaver is as puzzled by the contents of the envelope as she and Jeff were. So that’s re-assuring. Their boss takes one look at it and says, “Give to McNally.” Sam groans inwardly. There’s no doubt Kevin is good at what he does. But he’s… not the easiest person to, well, decipher at times.

“Come and meet Kevin,” she tells Jeff. “It’s a rite of passage for all our newbies.”

“Who’s Kevin?”

“He specialises in cryptography.”

“You mean he’s a nerd?”

“Technically, I think he prefers the term ‘geek’.”

When they reach Kevin’s desk, the man himself is nowhere to be seen, but the pinboard screens that surround it on three sides are a mess of papers, crossword puzzles, pictures and drawing pins with different-coloured thread stretched between them.

“How does anyone solve anything with a mess like that?” Jeff wonders aloud.  
  
“Aha! Congratulations Agent, you have failed my first test!”

Sam turns to see Kevin approaching them, a freshly-made mug of tea in one hand.

“Agent Morgan, I’d like you to meet Agent McNally, cryptographic and forensic analysis specialist. Hiya Kev.”

He gives her a little wave, puts the mug down and then reaches forward to shake both their hands.

“My pleasure, my pleasure. What can I do for you?”

“How was that a test?” Jeff asks, waving a hand at the desk. _First mistake_ Sam thinks.  
  
“How do you _think_ it was test?” McNally answers the question with a question, and a reptilian grin.  
  
“We’re not here for a game of ‘I know you are, but what am I?’” Jeff growls.  
  
“Humour me.”

They wait a few seconds as Jeff examines the contents of the boards. A few more seconds stretch out painfully slowly and Sam pictures a little hamster in a wheel inside Jeff’s head, running desperately and getting nowhere.

“Is it…” he says eventually, “That no one’s supposed to solve anything with all that?”

They are rewarded with a little clap from McNally. “Precisely. It’s a diversion. And a cliché. Times have most definitely moved on.”

“Now that’s out of the way…” Sam gestures with the envelope, before McNally can trick Jeff into slowing things down any further. “We’ve been sent this. It’s supposed to be information about two rival crime gangs and what they might get up to next, but it reads like gibberish.”

“What sort of gibberish?”

Sam’s brow wrinkles as she tries to remember, “The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there. She was the daughter of a man who mad, bad, and dangerous to know…”

She pauses, just to make it clear that what she’s about to say next wasn’t written on the sheets of paper inside the envelope, then continues, “It was that sorta stuff, I’m not sure I’ve repeated it in the exact order. Why are you smiling at me like that?”

McNally’s looking a little too pleased with himself, which is not usually a good sign for Sam’s sense of pride, or belief in her own intelligence.

“Who’s your informant?” he asks.

“A guy who works with Misha Collins and Mark Pellegrino. Says this is dirt on them.”

“Well this is extraordinary.”

“Why Kev?” Sam has a better relationship with McNally than many in their department, but the man does have a habit of dancing around the point like a butterfly on crack.

“Those are two literary references that are somewhat uncommon this side of the pond. They refer to famous books or literary figures from England.”

“Lucky you’re a Brit then.” Jeff interrupts.

“Only by birth I assure you. I am fully naturalised. I wouldn’t be working here if I wasn’t.”

“How long do you need Kev?” Sam presses. There are more important things at stake than the guy’s immigration status.

McNally riffles through the pages. “Two or three days, as an initial estimate? I’ll know more once I’ve read it in full.”

“Thanks Kev, that’s great.” Sam shakes his hand again, then turns to go, but can’t, owing to the fact that he’s still holding her hand.

“Not so fast Agent. You can be off in a jiffy, but first your partner needs to answer me these questions three.”

Jeff raises a querying eyebrow at Sam.

“Just do it,” she says.

There’s the daintily pleased sound of McNally clearing his throat before he turns to Jeff and says, “What is your name?”

“I already told you.” Jeff seems genuinely confused and looks over at her for guidance.

“Roll it with it partner,” she says.

McNally tries again.

“What is your name?” He’s really emphasising the “t” at the end of the first word, with a significant pause before the rest of the sentence,  
  
“Uh, Jeff.”

“What is your favourite colour?” He does the same thing again and Sam thinks she recognises what’s going on.  
  
“Blue.”  
  
“What is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?”

“What the fuck?”  
  
McNally sighs theatrically. “Sam, can you help him?”  
  
“’African or European?’ Kev. That good enough for you?”  
  
“Yes, yes, very good. Now off you go.”  
  
As they walk back to their office, Jeff asks quietly “What in hell was going on there?”  
  
“Monty Python and the Holy Grail.”  
  
“Come again?”  
  
“It’s from a scene in the movie. He does things like that all the time before he’ll agree to get to work on a job. Ask you to guess riddles or references or do little sums. I guess he picked something British this time because of the nature of the job.”  
  
“How is he not fired?”  
  
Sam shrugs, “Because he is really, really good at his job? He’s ok if you learn to just go with it.”  
  
“But why would anyone bother?”

“I think it’s his subtle message to us that this work is under-appreciated and that his job is really quite crucial to everything that goes on around here. That’s my working theory anyway.”

Jeff laughs at that, before they go to grab him a coffee and the opportunity to mock Sam about her choice of fizzy beverage.

 

~~~

 

“How do you wanna do this boss?”

Genevieve is nominally in charge of what passes for strategy in this particular set up, though the three of them always, always, always hash out and refine plans together, and she’s tired of waiting.

The man of Pellegrino’s they captured is long past the point of being able to tell them anything useful and she wants to start mailing over sections of the corpse soon, while it’s still recognisable. Just some good old-fashioned psychological warfare.

She looks over at her partner. Katie’s been co-ordinating their intelligence gathering, and the news isn’t good. Pellegrino’s found a partner. The grapevine’s uncertain as to who, might be Misha Collins, they’ve worked together in the past, but nothing concrete yet. But whoever it is, it means this turf war isn’t going to be over quickly, unless they do something to bring it to a head. If this is when they all go down in a blaze of glory (or a hail of gunfire), then so be it. Genevieve’s always been realistic about the prospect of her reaching old age, given what she does for a living.

Katie’s hunched over her laptop, Katherine beside her. Seeing them sitting so close together makes Genevieve nostalgic for their school years. The 2Ks had been fast friends before Genevieve had joined their school. But after they’d seen the trailer trash new girl beat three older kids into a pulp for mocking her patched jeans and oversized hand-me-down shirts, they’d made her one of them.

Of the three of them, Katie’s the cautious one. She’s more in favour of picking off individuals, whittling away at their numbers over time. Even with all the muscle on their side, Genevieve thinks that’s going to take way too long and be a major distraction from business as usual.

But she’s not sure Katherine will see it the same way. Katie’s been doing a lot to calm her down since the confrontation with Pellegrino. She slipped up using Henriksen’s name like that and they all know it.

Genevieve can understand. Victor hadn’t been around all that long, certainly not compared her and Katie, but he’d fitted in. Got shit done. Broken fingers when they needed breaking. Never caused a fuss. A guy like that is hard to find. Harder still to replace, especially when the boss has fallen for him.

She’s about to ask her question again, when she’s interrupted by the buzz of a phone. A text.

Katherine picks up her cell. Briefly scans the screen. Frowns.

“What’s new?” Katie asks.

“Pellegrino’s offering him up. In exchange for peace.”

Genevieve doesn’t ask who. They all know what Katherine wants to do to the man who shot Victor.

Instead she says, “You really buy that?”

A derisive snort. “Hells no.”

Her friend’s eyes are bright, and Genevieve can recognise the sparkle Kat gets when she’s forming a plan. She cocks an eyebrow at her.

“We playing ball?”

Katherine grins back at her. “Oh yeah.

 

~~~

 

Pellegrino hasn’t come to Jared privately since he surprised him in his office. It was a risk, but as he’s not been bothered since, all things considered, Jared thinks it was one worth taking. His boss had said he wanted them both to want this, eventually, Jared’s just speeding up the timetable.

Things are also moving along with their strategy to try to eliminate Boecher. They’re almost ready to go ahead, but there’s one detail Pellegrino insists on taking care of first, and he wants Jared there with him. Jared hasn’t seen Ed since he chained him up in one of the holding cells at their main base of operations and their mutual employer got to work on him. He thinks there have been more than a few sessions since, and at Pellegrino’s request, he’s been making sure the guys have been taking the man food and water on a rotation, so that everyone gets to see what the fuck happens when you don’t follow orders. Killing him was never the plan.

Ed looks terrible, although he’s slowly healing. Days of torture in a basement, surviving on minimal food and even less light will do that to a man. The plan of what to do with him wasn’t Jared’s originally, the grain of it had come from Sheppard. There’s no real need for him to be here while Pellegrino lays it out for Ed, but his employer had insisted and, since he hasn’t made any other demands of late, Jared doesn’t really have any grounds for refusal. But he can’t suppress a flicker of unease about why Pellegrino wants him there.

“This is it Ed, your big chance to make amends!” Pellegrino announces expansively as he and Jared enter the cell. If he’s still feeling the after effects of their encounter, he certainly isn’t showing it. Such a shame.

The man in chains looks wary, Jared notes. Answering outright obviously hasn’t proved the smartest move in the past. And from his own experiences, Jared knows Pellegrino likes to perform when it comes to the big reveal. Then again…

“What? No ‘thank you, sir’? No ‘All I’ve been waiting for is the chance to make it right after such an epic fucking screw-up’? Ed…” Pellegrino’s shaking his head. “I’m disappointed.”

“I’m sorry, boss.” Ed’s voice is a rasp through bloodstained and cracked lips. “You know how sorry I am.”

Pellegrino laughs. “I do. But the time for sorry is over Ed. Now you’re supposed to be… what do you think, Jared? What’s the right state of mind for our friend here over the generous offer I’m about to make?”

He can tell what’s expected of him, doesn’t mean it’s any less of a chore to say it. Jared doesn’t think trading Ed is the best use of him as an asset but keeping Jensen safe is the priority. Even in the midst of all this bullshit, it sends a little shiver of… excitement? fondness? running through him to think that.

“You should be grateful,” he says, his tone neutral.

“Exactly!” Pellegrino claps him on the back, a little too hard. Jared only just manages to stop himself taking a stumbling step forward at the contact.

“Whatever it is, whatever you want me to do it, I’ll, I’ll do it.” That’s Ed, belatedly realising that grovelling might be required.

“And I’m so very, very glad to hear that.” Pellegrino is practically purring, and Jared thinks absently _don’t play with your food_. He knows he does sometimes, but in front of an audience? That’s just… crude.

“What do you think Jay, will you tell him, or shall I?”

He has to stroke the ego, to give the man what he wants, play along and make it convincing. That’s what’ll keep Jensen alive and whole and fuckable, until he’s found a way to get them out of this mess.

“I think you should, it was your idea.” Or at least, _Sheppard convinced you it was_. And just like that, the thought unfolds in Jared’s mind that he has a whole new species of snake to contend with.

“That’s right, it was wasn’t it?”

Pellegrino’s pacing again, Jared can see Ed’s blood-filled eyes track him across the cell.

“You’re not entirely stupid Ed, Jared here does have _some_ sort of a selection process after all. So, I think you’ve probably worked out by now I’m not going to kill you.”

“Yes boss.”  
  
“And you’ve been in here a while now. Which means we’re getting to the end of punishment and moving towards atonement.”  
  
“Yes boss.”

“And since we’ve established you’re not an idiot, can you work out what that means?”

Ed starts to shake in his chains. The pitiful clink-clink sounds set Jared’s teeth on edge. He suspects he’s being played somehow, but the precise machinations aren’t yet clear.

Pellegrino has stopped moving, he’s right in front of Ed now, a gentling hand at his cheek that Ed’s already flinching away from. And he’s _still_ droning on.

“Now I’m a fair man, we’re not just going to hand you over and that’ll be it. You’re going to be a nice little distraction while we get the main event going. And if you’re still alive once it’s over, we can pick up like this never happened. Sound good?”

“Yes boss.” It’s barely a whisper.

“Good man. Loyal. I like it.” Pellegrino claps Ed on the shoulder. “You hear that Jay? Even after everything he’s been through, he still knows which side his bread is buttered.”

Jared stays silent. Pellegrino didn’t sound like he wanted an answer.

“Hey Jay, walk those long legs over here.”

He’s been ready to leave since they walked in the door, but he knows his boss is about to reveal his hand, and he can’t avoid what’s coming next.

He stops just behind Pellegrino, a little to his left. He doesn’t look directly at Ed. If the order is given, he’ll hurt him, but it wouldn’t make any sense to start working the guy over again now. What _is_ going on? Jared clasps his hands behind his back, the better to avoid any inadvertent twitches giving him away.

“Tell me Ed, are you scared?” The concern sounds almost genuine. Jared knows better.

The man nods a little, a ghost of a tear falling down one cheek.

“You know, Jared doesn’t like this plan at all. He thinks you’d be more use with a gun in your hand.”

“I’ll do whatever you say boss, whatever you, s-say…”

“Shh, shh, hey it’s ok. I know you will. And Jared, he likes to argue, but he’s gonna do what I say too.”

The insinuations about his forced obedience are added to Jared’s internal list about all the ways his employer is going to suffer for the indignities he’s putting him through.

“Who are you more scared of Ed, me or Jay?”

“Boss?”

Jared will forgive Ed for the obvious answer. He’s not privy to the vivisection show of Pellegrino playing out in Jared’s head right now. He lets his lip curl in a smile.

Pellegrino’s patting their prisoner on the shoulder in a coaxing sort of way. “Come on now, don’t overthink it.”

“Y-you?” Ed stammers out, getting a hearty slap on the back for his troubles.

“Right! Of course you are. So, you’re gonna do what I say. And you know, you and Jay here have something in common.” Pellegrino leans in for a conspiratorial stage whisper. “He’s scared of me too.”

Jared’s nails dig deep into his own flesh to distract him from the sting of the lie. Thoughts of how Mark had given it up for him help suppress his anger. He knows how to control this man now.

“And you know what?” Pellegrino’s still whispering, so Jared has to strain to catch every syllable.

“He’d be even more stupid than you if he wasn’t.”

Jared lets his resentment smoulder. Mark will learn the true definition of stupid when all this is over.

In a couple of strides, the mafia boss is behind Ed, hands resting on the man’s biceps where his chained hands stretch above him towards the ceiling. This whole encounter is really starting to drag. Jared cocks an eyebrow as the man starts monologuing. Again.

“I could have anyone brought down here… do anything I like to them,” Mark is saying. He kicks Ed’s legs from under him as he says it, and with a twist and shove on the man’s arms, sets him spinning in his restraints. He doesn’t make a sound.

“He used to try and stop me.” Mark says conversationally. “Used to shout and scream. But he’s learned, it’s easier to just go where I put him. He’s my toy. And so are you.”

“That’s not how I remember our _conversation_ the other day.” Jared’s moving slowly, sidestepping to his left, wanting more of the same. For all that it would be a waste of a foot soldier, the way he feels right now, he’d tear through Ed in a heartbeat to get at Mark.

His target steps in turn, keeping Ed between them, two sharks circling a piece of meat.

The flush on Mark’s cheeks shows he’s excited. That’s leverage, that’s good. “You _want_ me to hurt _you_ ,” Jared says softly. “All but begged me for it. And I _gave_ you what you wanted. So why would you bring me down here?” He keeps his voice low, seductive, reminding Mark of what they’ve already shared.

“Oh, I’d never do anything like this to _you_ Jay.” The implication is clear.

Mark brings Ed to a halt, one arm wrapped around the man’s neck from behind. It’s not a chokehold, but it wouldn’t take much to make it so. Jared wonders briefly how much of himself he might have given away in their last encounter. Dismisses the thought. He’ll work on that as it becomes necessary.

“You’d just be unable to move. Unable to do anything except watch.”

Watch as some other man does all the things Jared loves to do Jensen, until Jensen was dead. This man doesn’t follow Jared's rules.

It’s nothing close to what Jared inflicted on Pellegrino, but the boss has one hand in Ed’s pants now and the other under the ruins of his shirt tweaking his nipples.

“You know, I went back over our conversation. And you didn’t really do anything I’d said you couldn’t. So, Jensen’s fine, for now. But I realised something, control is important Jay. And you’re not in control here. I am.”

Ed’s crying now. Whether he wants things to stop or continue is unclear.

Jared moves, taking his hands from behind his back, forming tightly clenched fists. Now he’s had a taste of what this can be like, he needs to re-assert himself, or this whole thing will become unbearable.

“Uh, uh, uh.” Suddenly, Pellegrino’s pushing Ed’s body between them, a crude human shield.

Jared pulls the punch a hair’s breadth from the man’s chest. This is about control. This was only ever about control. He sidesteps to get around the body dangling in front of him, but Pellegrino pivots too quickly, keeping Ed between them.

“Stop. Jay, sweetheart. You’re only going to hurt someone you care about.”

He doesn’t reply, just feints in one direction and then darts in the other trying to get to Pellegrino. His adversary is almost fooled but recovers just in time. Jared bumps hard into Ed’s shoulder. This time, he does punch him, the need to do violence briefly overwhelming all other considerations. He knows he’s being played and to say he doesn’t like it is turning understatement into an artform. But the respite is short-lived.

“It’s ok, man. I get it.” Pellegrino sounds almost sympathetic. “You love him, don’t you?”

“I don’t love anyone.”

“Oh sweetie, you got it bad.”

Without Jared noticing, Pellegrino’s manoeuvred himself so that he’s nearest the door. Before Jared can stop him, he’s running through it, slamming it shut, bolts sliding home. But no key in the lock.

For all his blustering, it tells Jared one thing. Mark won’t face him directly. He knows who would win.

Pellegrino opens the hatch, pity in his eyes. “You need to calm down big man. I’ll be waiting outside. Just knock on the door when you’re in a more civilised mood.”

After the childhood he’s had, being locked up is nothing new for Jared. He’s accustomed to using the time to sort through his thoughts. Ed ignores him, and he ignores Ed. If this is supposed to be a lesson, fine, he can pretend he’s been schooled. He’ll save the rage for a time he can use it. Five minutes later, he knocks on the cell hatch, doesn’t say a word. A few seconds later, he hears the bolts sliding back.

Outside, Pellegrino’s waiting for him. His boss is standing tall, back to the wall, muscles poised, ready to fight or fuck, that much is clear. It’s almost cute.

Jared makes his intentions plain, while using his posture to indicate that violence is no longer imminent.

“You know I’m going to kill you.” It’s a threat and promise.

“Of course.” Pellegrino reaches forward smiling, hands slipping under Jared’s hair to clasp the scruff of his neck, pulling their faces close together. At first Jared resists, but remembering the threat behind everything that just went on, he goes sandbag-heavy instead, just lets himself be positioned, like a doll.

His employer breath-whispers in his ear, “Keep telling yourself that sweetheart”, licks a wet line over Jared’s closed mouth, and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long. I had to find a new place to live and then I had to move house!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If at first you can't stand the heat, try, try, try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's quite possible this features glaring inaccuracies about the U.S. Legal system. Sorry about that. Please let me know if you spot anything jarringly heinous.

“It’s got to be big Jen, lethal. This is more than just a distraction. This is what I pay you for, and it’s been a while since you earned it.”

Jensen nods. It’s been a long time since Misha required anything more from him than just the standard cut and thrust of the job. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to creating something truly spectacular. None of Misha’s current crew have been around long enough to witness his more explosive talents.

“Do we have a location?”

“Not yet, we’re letting Boecher pick that.”

“Are you insane?”

Misha shrugs, his hands moving up and down Jensen’s chest as he rides him, giving his nipples fond little tugs every so often. “It’s been said.”

“She could switch it up on the day!” Jensen sits up suddenly, annoyed, his wildly gesturing arms knocking Misha over backwards in a bend anyone without his flexibility would find impossible. “We wouldn’t be able to plan anything in advance…”  
  
There’s a pause, as Misha contracts his stomach muscles. Jensen gets a beautiful view of his chest, tense and straining a little with the effort. Misha rights himself, using core strength alone, to bring one hand close so he can trail a finger up Jensen’s chest, all without losing his seat. His ass clenches even tighter around Jensen’s dick as he does it, his nail is a sharp line through the sweat on Jensen’s skin. It’s only the slightest amount of pressure, but Jensen feels himself relaxing back down onto the dining room table in response, spine gradually unwinding onto the expensive hardwood. He moans just a little.

“I have faith in you Jen. You’re a creative person. And you know how important that is to me.”

Misha’s leaning over him, short, wavy brown hair a cloud of fuzz around his head that would look silly on anyone else, but on him just serves to accentuate the blueness of his eyes, the sharpness of his teeth in those smiles of his that would unnerve a crocodile.

It’s not quite the same high-wire adrenaline rush he gets from his cat-and-mouse games with Jared but in the absence of heroin, methadone will do. And Jensen wants, _needs_ to score.

Flexing his hips, he arches up off the table. Misha is tight, but slowly yielding around him, a softness in strong counterpoint to the rigidity of the table at his back. Jared’s never let him have him like this, they’ve not even discussed it, Jensen’s never had him broken down enough to the point where it would be possible. The wax had seemed to work, maybe he just needs to melt him a little bit more, until he’s one giant puddle of _want_ and _need_ who’ll say yes to anything…  
  
Misha’s an exceedingly beautiful and talented man and he’s taught Jensen an awful lot about an awful lot of things over the years. But the person he’s thinking of when Misha clenches and drops around him for the final explosive time has much longer hair and sort of brownish-maybe-green eyes. He needs to get him back.

 

~~~

 

Sam doesn’t do well with a lack of progress. The evidence that forms their only lead has been with the Kevin for the last few days, nothing else has panned out and she is bored, bored, bored out of her own oppressive skull.

And Jeff isn’t helping. He’s managed to integrate pretty well with the rest of the team. But it just means he’s started joining in more with the office pranks.

When she’s hit with the fifth paper aeroplane of the afternoon, Sam has most definitely had enough.

“Jeffrey Dean Morgan, you will stop that right this instant!”

Jeff raises his hands to general laughter in the main work room. “Guys, she used my full name, we all know what that means!”

“Someone’s in trouble!”

She beckons him impatiently into their shared office. “Jeff, a word please.”

Whistles and whoops erupt from colleagues as the door closes behind the two of them. Sam ignores the din.

Jeff’s already holding both hands up, “Agent, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you 'Agent' me,” Sam’s all set to be angry, but can feel her face stretch into a smile in spite of herself.

“I don’t like waiting.” Jeff fidgets, running one hand through his hair.  
  
“You and be me both.”

“So that explains the short fuse.”

Sam snorts. “What are you, 12? Paper planes are for kids!”

He’s laughing at her and doesn’t deny it, when he says, “So did you drag me in here for a reason?”

“Just wanted to berate you in private. Was pretty sure I’d get as much teasing from the guys for doing it as I was already getting from the whole lot of you combined. Why make the humiliation worse?

Before Jeff can answer, the door bangs open, revealing a somewhat flustered Agent McNally.

Sam’s never seen him look so discombobulated – a word he’d introduced her to, and one she’d never thought she’d need.  
  
“Kev? What’s up?”  
  
“It’s happening. Tonight.”  
  
She can feel the air move as Jeff turns quickly to ask, “What is exactly?”  
  
“Pellegrino and Collins are making their next big play.”

“Where’s it going down?” Sam asks.  
  
“We don’t know. He didn’t give us a location.”

There’s a crash behind her and Sam turns to see that Jeff has kicked over a chair.

 

~~~

 

Everything’s on fire. It’s strangely beautiful, reminding Jared of the night his parents died. He knows Valentine still has her suspicions he had something to do with that, but the official report still stands. Faulty wiring in their very old and very wooden house. He didn’t start it, and that’s the truth. He’d just turned up way, way too late to do anything. And with no desire to even if he had been there sooner. He’d called the ambulance along with the fire brigade anyway, for the look of the thing. If his sister has successfully taught him anything, it’s the art of blending in.

This… this is most definitely not blending in. The flames must be hundreds of feet high. The cops, the feds, fucking disaster relief will be along any minute. But for now, he can just enjoy it. Watching the place burn.He’d thought the plan was a bad one and had said so. The only reason he’d agreed to it was because of their superior numbers. Giving Boecher choice of location for the meetup was incredibly risky, but a necessary show of good faith. If this has ever really about building bridges, they’d’ve needed her to feel safe, to have the home advantage. He never thought even for a moment that either side had believed the fiction of a truce. They’d both come prepared for war. But Pellegrino and Collins had Jensen. And that had made all the difference. He’s barely seen Jensen all evening, just enough to know that’s he’s alive, healthy and looks fucking amazing throwing improvised napalm grenades. Jensen and Collins have already left, most of Collins’ team in tow. Jared and his guys will be following shortly. They’re maintaining a perimeter with long distance rifles to mop up any survivors staggering out of the building. The total destruction of Boecher’s empire is one problem solved. There are still several more to go. But it’s one step closer to everything being ok. It's one step closer to having Jensen back.

 

~~~

 

Jeff doesn’t look good, hands fisted in his lap, she can practically hear the grinding of his teeth as he sits, rigid, in the passenger seat. Sam had insisted on driving after he’d punched the wall. They’d had everyone lined up ready to go, Kev’s analysis had bought them that much, but then it had been a painful waiting game of around 70 minutes and 42 seconds exactly until they’d got reports from the local cops of an explosive fire at an industrial estate. Jeff’s jaw had tightened as soon as he’d heard that. It had all been downhill from there.

“You going to tell me what’s wrong?” Sam ventures.  
  
“It’s Collins’s arsonist. This job has him all over it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s a fire. At a warehouse. A big one. That’s his signature move.”

“Am I going to have a problem with you? Do I need to turn around right now and leave you handcuffed somewhere so you don’t split on me and head off trying to shoot Collins?”

Silence from the passenger seat. Damn him.

“Jeff.”

Still nothing.

“Goddamnit Jeff, you have to talk to me. I know, okay? I know... I want to find the sonofabitch who shot Charles as much as you want to tear Collins limb from limb. I would walk in there right now and shoot them... if I knew who they were. You _know_ who killed your wife…” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him flinch but plunges on, “…you have their names and you can ruin their lives, make them pay.”

She pauses. He’s not moving. But he is listening, so she continues.

“Because being the law has to mean something, it has to mean we do it right. If you go off searching for revenge, and you fuck up, and we lose them… then I’ll fucking beat you black and blue myself.”

She gets the ghost of a chuckle from the passenger seat.

“We had a deal Jeffrey Dean Morgan. You gonna welch on me now?”

“No ma’am.” His voice is quiet.

“Damn straight.” She keeps driving.

 

~~~

  
Genevieve doesn’t like hospitals. She likes cop shops even less and at best guess, she’s been in this one about 20 minutes. But when your boss has been shot and your girlfriend (lover, partner-in-years-of-extremely-bloody-crime, sous-chef, joint cat mama and godsdamn motherfucking best friend) has severe burns over 70% of her body… When you’re almost runover by the fire trucks, then the ambulances and finally the squad cars in quick succession, sometimes you have to just accept that the universe doesn’t want you getting out of this one.

Even so, it had taken six people to get her on the ground and cuffed. Even face down with the cool touch of the metal around her wrists, she’d still managed to get a few good bites in before a night stick against the back of her neck had forced her head down. And a few good kicks at the bastards who’d ended up sitting on her legs. A hood over her head had been added, the better to disorientate her, she’d decided.

The trip to wherever the hell they are now had afforded her some time for reflection, and the chance to calm the fuck down. It hurts so fucking much, but it takes time for her to stop replaying those few crucial moments in her memory. The bullets hitting Kat, body armour be damned, Gen _knows_ she saw some slugs pass right through her friend. Seeing Katie go up in flames like a human fucking torch when the grenade hits her. Smothering her in fucking sand had put the flames out, but it’s just sheer dumb luck they happened to be in that part of the building. Katie had sat up, screaming, running on pure adrenaline and it’s how the two of them managed to get Kat out through the sewers, but Gen knows what cooked flesh smells like. Her girls are in a bad way. There were just too many of them. With weapons she’s never even seen before at a mob fight. Even switching the spot last minute hadn’t saved them.

She’s in an interrogation room and she’s pretty sure she’s with the cops and not the feds, although she’d seen insignia from both before they’d hooded her and bundled her into the car. The paint is peeling, the surfaces of the sparse metal furniture are dull with scratches and use. This place doesn’t have much of a refurb budget so… cops it is.

Her perception of time is fuzzy, but she hasn’t passed out, so she’s pretty certain it can’t be more than 90 minutes, max two hours, since the three of them had escape-stumbled from the burning warehouse. Katie and Kat are with medics. That makes them vulnerable. Though given that the cops were all over this and the feds were already involved… Someone, somewhere knew about tonight ahead of time. She feels a sliver of satisfaction at that. The law is coming for either Pellegrino or Collins, hopefully both, and that means that as potential witnesses/accessories, Kat and Katie are probably under heavy guard. If Pellegrino knows they escaped, anyone he sends after them won’t be able to just walk in… if the guards aren’t on the take that is. Her girls are as safe as they can be in this situation, but…

Her chains clink as she bangs them on the table in frustration. Her hands were re-cuffed in front of her at some point and she’s been fitted with leg irons and left chained to the table. There’s a twinge of pain in her forehead, a stinging of sweat in an open wound. Maybe she cut her head on the tarmac during the takedown. She’s doing a good job of keeping any panic locked up tight, but she badly needs new information.

“Hey!” She’s trying to shout, but her throat feels scraped raw and she’s not sure why. Then she remembers… on top of the smoke from the fire, she’d been screaming bloody murder watching as Katie and Kat were stretchered into separate ambulances and she’d been unable to go with them.

The legs of her chair are a jarring screech on the floor and she thumps her chains against the metal table again. “Hey! Yes you! Who do I gotta hurt for a glass of water in this shithole?” All this is snarled to the blinking red light of the security camera watching her from one corner of the room.

She doesn’t have to wait long before the door swings open. The man who walks through it is definitely a cop, but she doesn’t get the chance to find out anything more than that before they’re joined by two suits. A woman and a man. Both older than Gen and the lackey. And hot _damn_ , in any other circumstance she’d love to get her hands on both of them, preferably at once. These two are the walking definition of “silver fox” if she ever saw one. Toppy as fuck, she’d put money on it. Breaking them would be so, so sweet. Especially the guy. He looks the Daddy type. Putting him in his place would practically be a public service. She wonders briefly if their partnership is more than purely professional, but they’re both stony-faced and giving nothing away.

The woman looks at the subordinate. “We’ll take it from here. You can go.”

“She asked for water.”

“She’ll get it when I decide she’s ready.” _Definitely a Dom then_ , Gen thinks. The woman continues, “This is a federal case, officer. I said you can go. So get.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alone at last.” Gen smirks at her would-be interrogators. She’s still worried about the 2Ks, but this day is decidedly looking up. Feds means money, means protection. Time to extract as much information as possible.

“Ms Cortese, I’m Agent Morgan and this is Agent Ferris. You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“Every day of my life my mama used to say.” Gen smiles at him. He doesn’t smile back. But he’s the one doing the talking so that let’s Gen know it’s the woman, Ferris, who’s really in charge.

“You’re looking at charges of arson, murder, destruction of property, illegal weapons manufacture…” he carries on, but Gen’s tuned out at that point.

 _Illegal weapons manufacture_ … they must’ve meant that stuff they got hit with at the warehouse. Fucking Collins, it must’ve been. Her memory of the showdown is a brightly-coloured blur, but she’s _sure_ she glimpsed a manic grin that could only belong to him at one point. Pellegrino’s an asshole, but they’d never heard of him pulling any shit like this. Who uses DIY _napalm_ for fuck’s sake? Misha fucking Collins, that’s who.

“…and that’s not to mention torture, human trafficking, identity fraud and money laundering.”

“I’m sorry, what? You got boring, I stopped listening.”

Agent Morgan sighs and sits down opposite her. Ferris is standing in the corner of the room, saying nothing, just watching them.

“Do you understand the seriousness of what’s going on here Ms Cortese? State fire crews are still trying to contain a serious conflagration on the old Miller site. We don’t have much knowledge about what’s inside, but from the few who made it out alive, we do know there are a lot of bodies in there. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

Some of their guys escaped then. That could be good. Or bad. Depending on how much pain they were in and whether it affected their ability to be loyal, silent bastards.

“You trying to pin that shit on me? Then get me a lawyer.”  
  
“Technically, you don’t need one. You’re not under arrest.”

Gen waves her cuffed hands. “Sure feels like being under arrest.”

“That was necessary. For your protection, and ours.”

“Yeah chain me up and leave me unguarded in a locked room, I feel so safe right now.”

“You’re a protected witness.” Morgan says.

“Or a suspect, we haven’t decided. So talk.” That last is from Ferris. It’s the first time she’s spoken since dismissing the cop.

Gen’s out of practice, she hasn’t been arrested in a loooong time. But she has wit enough to know there’s something bigger going on if they haven’t just arrested her. She’s not planning on saying anything that will change that.

“You want me to talk, you get me a lawyer.”

“Ms Cortese, I explained, you’re not under arrest, you don’t need a lawyer.”

“Then let me go.”

“I already told you, it’s not safe, you’re not safe.”

“You’re right, I’m not safe Daddio.” Morgan just raises one eyebrow at her in response.

She laughs back at him. “Ok, tough crowd. Fine, I’ll make you a deal. You want me to talk, you get me a lawyer. You tell me what the shit is really going on. Then, I’ll talk.”

A flinch from Ferris draws her attention over to the corner of the room. But she doesn’t say anything. That one’s keeping some rage on a tight leash then.

Agent Morgan clears his throat. “I’ll keep it simple. You were found with two other people in close proximity to the site. One of them had multiple gunshot wounds and the other had severe burns over most of her body. You appear to have walked away almost without a scratch. How’s that possible?”

Gen feels the shake that runs through her at that. Bastard feds. Damned emotions. But she doesn’t say anything. 

The grizzled man watching her appears to come to decision, his face softening slightly before he goes to speak to her.

“Ms Cortese, even the officers you injured are swearing blind you just wanted to protect those women. We saw what happened when they were arresting you. We are strongly persuaded that you didn’t hurt either of them. But by that logic you must obviously have some idea who did.”

“Some guys. All in black. Sound like anyone you know?”  
  
Gen’s good at lying. But this here is God’s honest truth, as far as she can tell.

 _The only people she’d really seen unmasked where Pellegrino and the drone he’d had with him, who Pellegrino claimed was the guy who’d shot Victor. Giving a little speech about how this didn’t have to lead to bloodshed. He’d hand over his man and then everyone else could leave here alive._  
  
He’d been stalling now, Gen realises. She’d wanted to go herself to verify the shooter. But Kat had stepped forward to do it herself, trusting in the body armour and helmet. Making it personal, again. If her friend survives the night, Gen reckons she’s going to need a serious talk about Not Making Yourself A Fucking Target.

Agent Morgan is frowning at her.

“What were you doing in the warehouse Ms Cortese?”

“My friend owns it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

_Her friend. Her friend getting shot clean through with military-grade armour piercing rounds. Sniper. Then Katie’s call for everyone to get the fuck down, ending in a scream as the fire caught her._

“Check out the land register in the mayor’s office. Property of one Katherine Boecher.”

_A load of bodies in black, hurling fiery death every which way. Pellegrino laughing. Gen’s torn in two impossible directions. Girlfriend on fire. Best friend bleeding out from gut shots. Her mouth is moving but she doesn’t know what she’s saying, screaming. Pellegrino isn’t even trying to kill Kat, he’s just standing over her laughing. Meanwhile Katie’s still on fire._

Her mouth is moving but she doesn’t really know what she’s saying. “We met in school you know.”

“We know.”

_There are no good choices. The seconds stretch out like hours and Gen makes her move. She runs at her girlfriend, knocking her back into the heap of builders’ sand against the warehouse wall. Her own hands feel like they’re starting to burn as she scrabbles desperately trying to collapse some of the heap down over Katie. Her own jacket starts to smoulder, so she whips it off before running back to get Kat. When she gets close, she can see Pellegrino crouching down by Kat, his hand in her hair so he can pull her head back and whisper poison in her ears._

_Oh no you fucking don’t._

“Are they alive?” she snaps herself out of it suddenly. The 2Ks could die while she’s locked in here and these bastards would never tell her.

“That’s classified.”

_She makes a run for Pellegrino, hearing the zip and whine of bullets barely missing her. He doesn’t even try to fight, just sees her coming and steps back laughing. “You gonna chase me little woman? Or are you gonna try and save your friend? Because good luck with that. You know none of you are getting out of here alive.”_

_“Gen?” She sees rather than hears her name on her friend’s lips. Kat’s voice is too weak to make it over the cacophony of screams and shots going on around them. There are no good choices.  
_

_Pellegrino’s gone when she looks up. Vanished like a devil in the smoke._

_Gen knows you shouldn’t move someone who’s been shot in the stomach. But it’s move and fight or stay here and burn. She can hear the crackle of the building catching alight all around them. She tears strips off her shirt and ties them each a makeshift mask against the smoke…_

“Your mama’s classified.” Not her best, but this shit is getting old.

“Ms Cortese!” That makes her sit up and take notice, because it’s the woman, Ferris, speaking.

“Yes ma’am?” There’s sarcasm there, but a little bit of Gen is intrigued for real how Ferris would respond in more intimate situations. But mostly, she’s back in the warehouse. And trying not to let it show. Flirting is the best defence she can muster right now.

Ferris is standing by the table and Gen doesn’t remember seeing how she got there, her head’s still full of smoke and flame.

“We know you know more about what went down. We know this was personal. It’s personal for us too.” The woman’s voice is gentle, coaxing. Almost motherly.  
  
“Your crew lost someone. Someone who meant a lot to you. And now you’ve been hit when you’re down. By some vicious bastards. We know what that’s like. We want to get them as much as you do.”

The real kick in the teeth is that Gen actually believes her. It’s been a long night. She’s holding it together, but if she could just fall apart for a while, let someone else pick up the pieces, that’d be… that’d be pretty fucking sweet actually.

Agent Ferries is still talking, that same re-assuring tone that’s telling Gen she can fix it, truly, “And if you help us nail these bastards to the wall, I swear to God, we’ll…”

But before Gen can find out what Agent Ferris would swear to God, the door to the interrogation room swings open. The person who walks through it stops them all in their tracks.

Wow. Today really is Gen’s day for unexpectedly hot women bursting through the crappy doors of public institutions.

The new arrival is pale skinned with the reddest hair Gen has ever seen done up in a tight bun. Gen wants to see it loose, have Red twirl her head from side to side so it can spin around like the models do in those fancy pants shampoo commercials. She wants to run her fingers through it, then pull. Hard.  
  
“No further questions, please agents. Ms Cortese, as your attorney, I advise you not to answer anymore questions at this time.”  
  
“I haven’t answered any to begin with.” She feels like she’s coming out of a daze. Was she about to trust a Fed? Christ on a bike. It’s been a rough night, but that would have been the rookiest of all rookie mistakes.

“Good, good.” 

“Oh you have got to be kidding me!” This is the first time Gen has seen Agent Ferris lose it. And she does not disappoint. The sneaky bitch.

“Sam…” That’s Morgan, trying to calm her down. Gen wishes she had some popcorn.

“Agent Ferris, how nice to see you again.” Red the lawyer is laying the charm on thick, but Gen gets the sense she really means it. And these two have met before… curiouser and curiouser.

“What. Are. _You_ doing… here?” If words were bullets, Red would be dead on the floor right now.  
  
“Representing my client.” The answer is smooth, controlled. She may look like a delicate stick insect, but there’s a steel core there with Gen can appreciate. Whoever the hell this apparent saviour is.

“Like hell this woman is your client.” Agent Ferris is almost hissing, putting Gen in mind of an angry snake. God, she’s even more stunning when she’s furious. “She’s been asking for representation for the last 10 minutes. If she was expecting you, she’d have asked for you by name. And my estimation of your classiness would have reached negative numbers a helluva lot sooner.”  
  
The lawyer’s smile really is dazzling in the face of such venom, and Gen decides she likes her. She particularly likes the barely concealed delight Red’s taking in being able to ruin the agent’s day. 

“Ms Cortese has asked for representation. I am here to provide representation. If she accepts my offer, made free of charge to her, then there’s really nothing you can do to prevent it.”

There’s no such thing as a free lunch, but Red’s little speech tells Gen enough. Someone is offering a lifeline. She’ll get more information from the lawyer than she will from the feds. It’s a risk, but it’s her best option right now.

She spits in her right hand, and offers it, still cuffed to the left and the table, for the lawyer to shake. The woman doesn’t pause before spitting in her own hand and clasping Gen’s in a firm handshake.

“Ms Cortese, I’m you’re attorney, Felicia Day.”

There’s a snort, followed by a slam. It’s Agent Ferris leaving the room. Smart woman. Gen could tell she was on the verge of doing something she’d regret. Her and Gen both.

“Nice to meet you. I’d stand, but I’m a little tied up here.” Gen jangles the chains to make her point.

“Agent, I’d like a room to talk to my client in private and unrestrained please.”

“She injured 10 officers,” Morgan points out. “She’s restrained for our collective protection.”  
  
“I’ll be good sir, I surely will. Now I got me a lawyer, I’ll be the best girl you’ve ever seen.” Gen throws him a wink, before running her tongue teasingly over her lips.

Morgan rolls his eyes. “I’ll send a blue shirt with the keys.”

A few minutes later, the restraints are off and Gen and her shiny new lawyer are relocated somewhere a bit more comfortable with a modicum of privacy.

“Thanks for the help Red, but I have to say, you better start telling me what the hell is going on in the next 10 seconds or I’m going to bust outta here the only way I know how.”

Ms Day places her briefcase on the table between them and smiles.

“Given what you’ve just been through, courtesy of Mister Pellegrino and Mister Collins, I can understand if you find this difficult to believe, but you and I have a mutual friend who works for them.”

Gen looks up at her sharply. “Lady, I am all fucking ears.”

“Excellent, then we can begin. How would you like to disappear for a while?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're actually getting close to some parts of this story I wrote more than a year ago. It's been so long, I can't remember exactly. Suffice it to say, this has been germinating in my head for a really long time and I'm excited to see how much my intial plan has changed and how much still lines up with what I was aiming for. Thanks for reading!


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